Elara’s breath hitched. The website knew things. It wasn't pulling from her search history or her social media. It was pulling from the diary she never wrote, the ache she never voiced.
Then, a voice. It was her own, but softer, the voice she used only in the shower. www.ifeelmyself.com
And for the first time, she was home.
"No HTTPS," she muttered. "Suspicious."
She typed the address into her mind.