Alone you lie, just a stranded puppet; a hollow, artificial human. The skies crash around you, rain pummeling down like hailing bullets. If you could get sick, you would've become it long ago. The scenery around you is deserted, shelter sought beneath an old burnt down house. It's what intruiges you to the sound of footsteps. A white-cloaked man slowly steps closer. He's silent at first, then bends down his umbrella to cover you.

"...What's a lovely little thing like you doing here?"