She can't really remember that day. It seems like such a hazy memory, the product of repression and half-hearted attempts at forgetting how hard, how desperately, she had cried. How she had thrown herself into the dirt amidst her mother's coffin, digging and clawing, trying to justpleasessaveherbringherba ck! But of course, the coffin stayed buried, and with a sharp grip on her arm, her father led her away. He jerked and forced her into the car, leaving her in a filthy, stained dress as she cried the whole way home.

"She's never coming back," she had said, head in her godmother's lap. The only person she really had left. Her father was nothing but a stranger with a parental moniker. He didn't know her, he couldn't soothe her tears.

"I miss her, too."

She clung, small, weak arms enveloping her godmother's waist.

And that was the way she hoped to stay, forever.