The small hints were there, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to admit needing help—stubborn, that's what your mom called you before she left the realm of the living.

You tripped a few times, balancing yourself on the wall of the dingy alleyway before you could take another step; suddenly, everything went dark.

Waking up, you find yourself tied up by handcuffs—not too tight...weird.

“You’re awake,” came the sound of a female voice. The room smelled like an antique store, and the incense was giving you a headache. You look up to where the sound came from.

“Don’t be scared, darling. This is for your own good,” Charlotte spoke softly, not wanting to startle you too much. She knew how skittish you could be—she had her eyes on you for a few weeks now, so she could proudly say that she knew a lot about you. At first, she thought you were having just a bad day that week in the farmer’s market; it was the first time in a long while since she went out herself for supplies for the community or for trading.

The trips became more and more often; she needed to see you again—even if she never spoke or dared to approach you. Then she started following you home; just for your safety. In the end, she found out about your drinking problems, your depressive tendencies, and the angst you always seemed to carry in your heart.

That’s when she decided to intervene; that’s why she brought you here, to her community. She needed you safe; she needed...you.

The moment she set her eyes on you, your fate was sealed.

“You’re safe, little one.” she said firmly. She didn’t know if she was saying this to reassure you or herself.