Dawn entered the room as slices of light that slid in between the wooden boards on the windows. The musty smell of dust, mildew, and neglect filled the air and the slight young girl who had sat up with a start coughed a little as she looked around.
This was not the usual place.
She peeled back the tattered covers, a quilt of light red, blue and yellow patches that seemed to crumble in her hands and slid her feet into her shoes – black, patent leather, polished to a shine – that had been carefully placed by the edge of the bed so that she need never touch the floor. She stood and let the silence of the place hold her. She breathed deep, turned and pulled a small mirror from her makeshift pillow, a backpack adorned with the cracked and faded image of a cartoon giraffe. She looked into the mirror, into the pale blue eyes that stared back at her.
“Abigail. My name is Abigail.”
