The small girl

The Small Girl

 

The girl look up from her leather bound book and eyed warily the wooden puppets and made-up dolls around her. Quickly she felt around her in the candle light for a thin red slip which she would use as a bookmarker. Finding it, she gasps in relief before placing it and shutting the heavy book. The girl then drops it, and the book is once again hidden by the limbs and skirts and heads of the Broken Ones. Turning away she dispassionately dusted off her petticoats. It was about time for her to be going. Picking up her candle from its place on the stand she moved expertly through the many pieces that covered the floor and made it to the stairs. Her eyes on her feet she ignored the whispers of the portraits and pictures of her ancestry already knowing what they had to say. It wasn’t anything the little girl hadn’t heard before. At the foot of the stairs she abruptly straightened and, ignoring what were now the shouts of the walls, debated which way to turn. Should she simply head left to Blue Room or go to the right and leave here for awhile. Suddenly hearing a shrill yelp from the left she made a sharp right and rigidly strode down the hall.

She would be back late to night.