Prologue

Alone.

Yes, that was the word. That was the best word to describe all of the cold, the pain coursing through her body, the pressing, dark feeling in her mind. The Bad Men had hurt her for sure; they had grabbed her arms, pinching her skin as they dragged her away from papa. She hadn't exactly understood why they did it. She never did. But the fact was that they had; they had dragged her away, all the way to the small, scary room with its frightening walls and its nasty, empty floor. They had thrown her down, hurting her again, not caring about her cries or screams. Not caring about her pain. She had pleaded; pleaded to let her out. She didn't know what she had done wrong, but she was willing to make up for it. If it meant she would not be alone anymore, she would make up for it.

Alone.

Oh, yes, there was the pain. The pain of her sore arms and the places where her skin was flushing red; where they had pinched her. But that, of course, was only the kind of pain you could take away with a bit of that cold stuff which they called ice. She liked to think of it as "outside pain". But deep inside her was a different kind of pain, the kind that didn't want to go away, the one that seemed to get worse every time she was locked up in this cold, empty room. It was the pain of the walls not responding to her tears, the pain of the floor being icy and unwelcome as she rested her tired head against it, longing for a pair of hands which would cuddle her to sleep as she slowly drifted away in the darkness. It was the kind of pain with only one name.

Alone.

Oh, they would let her out again. Eventually. Papa would wait for her when they brought her back to him, and he would always tell her that if she refused to listen to him again, they would take her back to the empty room, locking her up a little longer than the last time. She didn't want to, of course, but it wouldn't matter. Papa would always ask things of her that she didn't want to do, because they were bad things. In the end, it was just the same cycle over and over again. The empty room, the bad things, the empty room, the bad things… and in the middle of it all was the pain she carried around as if it were just as normal and regular as having ten fingers, or a nose. But she never got used to it. She never would.

Alone.

There was one time, though, when something else happened. When someone managed to take some of the pain away. She didn't really remember it very well because it had all seemed so untrue, so weird and new, but she knew it had happened. She did have a vague memory of it, of lying on the cold floor, trying to get some sleep. (She preferred sleep over being awake in the empty room, although there were still the nightmares that haunted her) But suddenly, all the fatigue she had disappeared as if it had simply never existed. She had heard a sound. A weird, wheezing sound, coming from outside the door. She had gotten up and pressed her ear against the surface, but after a loud, resounding thud, there was nothing but silence.

She had contemplated for a minute, knowing that papa and the Bad Men would surely hurt her if she opened it, but somehow she had a slight feeling there would be no punishment. So she concentrated, focusing on the lock as it made a soft click, the door slowly swinging open.

She had no clear memory of what had happened after that. She recalled there being blue, and a bright, warm light. Creaking when another door opened. She recalled being a bit scared, fascinated by these new, unknown things.

But there was no pain. No alone.