:

The world’s pieces fell like a weak shower around her. A

 strange picture it was, a muddled cacophony of giggles, a mahogany ceiling, bright sunlight and cool breeze. Like watching her own self in a dream. The ceiling cleared revealing a

few water stains as the constant murmurs and high-pitched

giggles turned o white noise as adult voices punctuated it. Her

thick, tangled tresses of hair provided cover. It will be alright. 

“She’s faring well. A normal pulse although her stomach still rejects food from time to time.”

 A voice said. Its cadence was a little bit different from a Mercantile she was all too familiar with.

 Sal lay still, ignoring the nudging feeling that they are talking

about her. There she was, eavesdropping again. 

“Who could’ve done such thing to a young girl?”

Sal lay prostrate and quiet in bed at the woman’s question. Her stomach was a little stirred and remnants of sour bile remained

stuck on her mouth. The arms were pinned weak on scratchy

sheets. She was almost like a doll posed and helpless on the bed, smiling. She turned her head ever so slightly so as to save her face from

scrutiny by covering them with her hair. It just awakened trouble. The murmurings became louder then hushed. Three figures

towered over her and she recoiled at their stares. One woman seated her up on the bed. Three pairs of feet stood on

bare floorboards by her bed. Bare, bleached floorboards? She

craned herself out of the bed and rubbed her palm on the

floorboards. Clean, but rough. The touch was different on her

fingers. 

“Why is the room strange?” 

No movement in their feet. There was silence then a bit of an

argument. One of them approached her so Sal withdrew her hand

to her chest, curling herself up on her ball. 

“Hey, that’s rude. Kid.” A female voice. “You’re in Hospicia de mi Sofrenzha here in Isla Domicillia in Tanawa. I’m Lea, I don’t

bite despite what people may tell you. So, what’s your name?”

 The woman’s voice was rough but high like steel grating on steel. A strange singsong accent and a stacccato like delivery laced her words. Sal brought her arms further and wrapped herself with

her arms. The woman was talking. The sound melted to her ears. All she could see through her tangled hair was the all-too wide

room and walls blank like paper. “Do you perhaps believe she’s a runaway?”

“That would be awful.” The murmurings from one side of the room went louder. A bunch of heads peeked by the door like mushrooms growing on a tree.

Sal kept her sight on the ground as the other woman came in closer. 

“Child, are you feeling fine? Does it hurt somewhere?”

 The sounds drifted in and out. 

The woman with the scratchy rough voice climbed on the bed. And at a moment’s notice, she found her face bare, face to face with the woman as she proceeded to run her hands all over Sal’s arms and cheeks and forehead. Sal bristled. Then, the woman paused.

 Sal was watching herself from a dream. The woman was a mirror. Dark hair paired with big but fox like eyes. Deep, emerald eyes. The only other person with the green eyes as her own.

 “I knew it.” the woman whispered