Anyone who puts up with endless questions must be the stranger one. Sal stared at the neat parting in the woman’s crown while the rest of her hair fell in a tight, rope-like braid. 

Sal readied another query. “The room is spotted. Why?” 

“Discolored spots? The floor was soaked too much with water during cleaning.” 

“The place is empty. No paintings, or flowers, or books.” 

“The place is empty. No paintings, or flowers, or books.”

 “Impractical. Unsuitable. Costly.” 

“Costly?” 

“This place runs on donations. We are practically beggars to rich Mercantiles and other patrons.” 

“The Hospicio. Why is it so big?” 

“It was originally a villa. Some rich guy on the brink of death was scared witless out of his nerves at the thought of that so he decided to do charity upon getting well. At least, that is what Rocco said.” 

“Who’s Rocco?” 

“Some annoying constable.” 

It is not that Sal has run out of questions but too much of her queries might have surely irritated her. But the woman’s face had always that almost perpetual scowl. 

“No more questions?” the woman asked, her tone in the end, a little too lilting for Sal’s ears. Mocking. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. I am not some adult up stuck on some glass pedestal. We will need any information that might be useful if we are to get out of this place.” 

Sal curled further unto herself, wrapping the mattress over herself like a small armor. 

“You are recovering well, so we could get out of this place soon.” 

This place was from a dream. It is something that will disappear once she wakes from slumber. And where does she wake up to? She does not know. It is a dream, perhaps that was why she was more reckless and thoughtless than before. 

“What is this place?” Sal asked. 

“They call it a Hospicio for formality, but this is actually an orphanage. A place where children with no parents go.” 

Surely, this place is a strange dream. Her hands froze. Thoughts focused on the white spot on the ceiling. A faint recollection of the needles in her stomach, that desperate gasp for air. That faint lamplight in the distance. 

“About that night,” the woman nudged her arm. “Who wants to hatm you? Who is after you?"

Sal curled her hands into a ball. Hiding her face in the mattress until her whole head was swallowed by that measly, scratchy piece of cloth. Nothing to be seen. Nothing to answer for. She knows nothing. She knows nothing. 

The woman tugged at her mattress, but Sal kept hold eventually falling on her side on the bed. 

“At least, tell us your name. I know a lot of people up in the North. The Cagliostro clan, you know them? Or the Le’s from Port? The branch family of Cauyan? We could connect you to them when we get out.” 

Sal bristled. All the questions in her mind filled by that sense of want to erase from the woman’s mouth all the names she’s mentioned. She has a name! A name. What are all these useless clans? 

Sal peeled away the cloth covering her face, and stared intently at the woman who must have taken her sight off her for a moment. The emerald eyes, those green eyes she’s never seen before in anyone else but herself. 

“Why are your eyes ugly?” 

The woman stared at her intently, her eyes going wide as she grit her teeth. “What did you say?” 

Those orbs, green like poison, green like anger and fire of an ugly, unsightly beast. 

“You know what? You’re on your own.”