Frown sewn to her face. Hair down to her waist. Eyes blank.

Song, by all accounts, looked the part of a wandering spirit.

She was not. She was very much alive and not well, how little it seemed to matter.

To the many people who laid eyes on her, she was a wandering spirit and she posed a threat to them, at that very moment.

And so.

And so, the screams, the fists, and the disquiet came barreling at her.

The disquiet never relented. It hung over her, even after she’d long left their homes. It followed her at every turn.

The day started no different from the others. Song walked alone, to and from school, and, all the while, waiting to be taken to someone’s living room from that movie she’d always wanted to see.

And then, a step from her house, she was taken.

By now, she’d got used to the feeling of static running through her body, so, getting loose, she braced for the pain.

The room of a little girl, this time. Get ready. You’ve already seen the worst of it.

But, without a hint of fear, the girl gave her a shy smile and handed her a teacup. “Want to play with me?”

Song, relieved beyond words, said, “Sure.”