𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐟𝐢𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 ✍︎

2| 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝙶𝚒𝚛𝚕

Ella's POV
Age: 8
Location: Base

I've been here two months. The marks on the walls say so.

Two months, and I already feel like I'm dying. Two months, and I know that I won't make it out of here.

V̶i̶n̶c̶e̶n̶t Sir started my training a little while ago. I do combat with one of the other kids and reflexes with one of his men, Angelo.

I hate him. He slaps me when he gets annoyed at me. No one bats an eye though. Here, child abuse is normal.

I was whipped for the first time last week. It was because I disobeyed V̶i̶n̶c̶e̶n̶t Sir. He told me to punch one of the younger kids and I refused. His guards dragged me to the 'punishment room' and whipped me ten times. It hurts so bad, but there's nothing I can do about it.

According to Number 1, ten is nothing compared to what he's gotten.

I'm scared. I want to go home. I want to go home to Mama's cooking and Papa's warm hugs. I want to spend time with my cousins and sit in grandfather's lap.

I cry quietly, ignoring the pain in my ribs as it pushes against the hard stone that serves as my bed. I pray that my slight sniffles aren't heard by the guards down the hall. Any emotion of any kind is strictly prohibited and can lead to punishment.

"Why are you crying?" A small voice asks. I startle at the noise and look up. A small girl, even smaller than Number 12, stands in front of me. She looks familiar, but once again, I can't quite remember why.

"How did you get in here?" I ask. The doors to my room c̶e̶l̶l̶ is closed, like everyone else's.

She says nothing, but points to a small window on one of the walls. There are no bars and it's perfect to fit a small child like her. But how did she get up there?

"You climbed?" I ask. She nods.

"How old are you?" I ask, sitting up and beckoning for the child to come closer. She takes one step closer, but that's it.

She holds up three fingers, then puts them down.

Three years old. She must be the youngest one here!

"Why were you crying?" She asks again.

"Because I miss my parents," I respond quietly.

"If if makes you feel better, I never knew my parents." I was slightly taken back by her. She knows a lot of words for a three year old. Speaks very clearly as well. If I didn't know any better, I would think that she's five or six (if you ignore her height).

"I'm sorry," I say. Even in the dark, I can see her face scrunch slightly.

"Why?"

"Because you never knew your parents. That must make you sad." She shakes her head, her hair flying wildly.

"I don't get sad. And it okay. Sir says they didn't want me."

"I'm sure that's not true." She simply shrugs in response.

Heavy footsteps echo down the dark hallway. Before I can blink, the girl is scaling my wall and slips through the window.

I lie down in my bed and pretend to be asleep. The guards passes, not suspecting anything. I don't sit back up until I hear his footsteps disappear.

My eyes close and I release a breath. If my family ever finds me, I'm going to free every single one of these kids.