Little Wolf

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The Shelley House...

Vanessa wept, head against the door. She felt dirty-she hadn't bathed in weeks, and the dust was so coated on her that her tears created faint lines of cleanliness down her cheeks.

The twelve-year-olds' stomach ached, hungering, starved.

She was bent down, hunched over, against the large metal door that she knew so well now. There was a small slot that could be opened near the top, but it was never used. There was no handle to open it with-this door wasn't meant to open from the inside.

This was the room she hated. The room of darkness, of starvation. Of punishment.

She'd been locked in here a few times before, but never for this long. Had she been forgotten? Would she die in here?

Somehow, Vanessa felt that she would.

As these things so often did, she started to remember. To think back.

The first time she'd been brought to the Shelley house, she'd been grateful. Appreciative. This man had brought her off the streets, saved her, giving her the best food she'd ever tasted. He'd given her a room, comfort, even love.

And yet, it felt so different from how things had been with her mother, before her death.

The first time she had been locked in here, she hadn't known what to expect. The girl couldn't even remember what she'd done wrong-perhaps it was breaking a dish, or making a scene, or something similar. All she did remember was Malhare, tsking and whispering, "What am I to do with you, Vanny?"

Vanessa had responded, "What? My name is Vanessa."

Malhare had shaken his head and replied, "Not any longer."

Then, he'd locked her in the room behind the metal door. Vanessa had only been confused for a bit, but less than half a day later she was pounding on the door, shrieking for help, not knowing what to do. The room was almost completely dark, with no other exits aside from the metal door.

Still, Malhare had left her there for a few hours longer before finally, blissfully opening the door and letting her out. She'd been locked in there for around ten to eleven hours.

Vanessa sniffed, trying to wipe her face clean. She felt weak. The room-no, the cell, was nearly frigid, which made it next to impossible to fall asleep.

The next time she'd been locked in this room was when she tried to steal the mask.

The mask was one of Malhare's inventions, a device he allowed her to use occasionally. She didn't know exactly what was special about it, but it made her feel strong every time she wore it. It filled her with a sense of power, of purpose. She would put the mask over her face, her nose and mouth, and with every breath she felt better.

But when she had to give the mask up, when Malhare would take it back, she was filled with a desperation to get it again. To breathe through the mask again. Her entire body became filled with the sensation that she needed the mask.

So, she'd tried to steal it. Not for good, but just for a little while so that she could breathe in it again.

But she'd been caught.

Malhare had grabbed her wrist, and slapped her.

"You're trying to steal from me?!"

"I just wanted to borrow it, I swear!"

"That's what everyone says, Vanny."

"My name is Vanessa!"

Then, he'd locked her behind the door again. She knew what to expect this time and was more prepared, but she broke eventually. After some time, she'd pounded on the door, sobbing, desperately trying to be let out. Eventually, the door opened.

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