prologue.

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Winter of 2003

"The fuck do you mean, she can't register?" 

A man with a trench coat and 5 o' clock shadow stood defiantly at the receptionist's desk.  The plaque on the counter read St. Agnes' Children's Home. He stared up at the woman across from him, who refused to look at him in the eye as she typed on her computer. At his side was a little girl with stark blond hair and dark brown eyes; a rather eerie combination. She looked sleepy and confused, gripping onto the man's hand like it was her vice.

Finally, the receptionist said firmly, "We can't take her in. We've got too many kids as it is."

"How heartless are you to deny a child to an orphanage, for god's sake?"

"I don't have a choice. We've got no room. No victuals, no beds, no nothing. I'm sorry."

The man stepped back at this, and puffed out a sigh. He ran his hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. "She's only seven years old. I ain't her dad, either. Both of her parents, long gone."

"I sincerely apolo-"

"You telling me that things are so bad, it'd actually be better to stay out there-" he jerked his thumb to the window quickly filling up with snow- "than to be in here?"

The woman made a funny noise, something between a cough and a sob. This was her brief moment of weakness; her features looked exhausted and weary. She had dark bags under her eyes, and her mouth was pinched and chapped. She looked on the verge of tears.

But after a split second of silence, she muttered. "Yes."

The man's only response was the sound of the door slamming behind him.

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