<span style="color: #FF0040">Little Snowâ€™s smile turned confused when her name was called in a familiar accent. She brushed a silver strand of hair out of her eyes at turned in the direction of the voice, her red bow flopping over a bit as the breeze picked up. A young man was rushing across the street in her direction, his golden curls bouncing about in tangles behind him. Well â€“ what was left of those curls anyways; she thought it a shame that heâ€™d shaved off quite a bit of it on either side. <br/><br/>Snow wasnâ€™t all that familiar with Philippe Carter; they rarely spoke. But she knew enough about him from what the townspeopleâ€™s gossip that he had found his way into some baaaad situations. But it wasnâ€™t for her to judge. And from what sheâ€™d gathered from his character, he wasnâ€™t as frightening as some of the people thought. Sure, his piercings, rugged hair cut, and his rumored...proclivities would scare some people off. But Snow saw a boy with pretty hair, kind eyes, and a childlike grin. Either way â€“ he was just another person living in little Norrowist. <br/><br/>So she just smiled and greeted him with a polite, â€œIâ€™m fine thank you.â€ A smile. â€œAnd how are you, Philippe?â€ She asked, her tongue trilling over the vowels in his name with care. <br/><br/>Now that he was closer, she could see his features better. She frowned mildly at the redness of the whites of his eyes; the dark sunken circles lining them. And goodness â€“ he was thin! Boney and pale, she decided. He did not look healthy in the least! <br/><br/>â€œMy goodness, look at you! I could fit you in a pencil sharpener.â€ She scolded seriously. She snatched a blood red apple from her basket and held it out to him, giving him an admonishing look. Then the red-clad girl smiled brightly. â€œAn apple a day keeps the doctor away, you know!â€</span><br/><br/>---<br/><br/><span style="color: #80FF80">â€œItâ€™s all <span style="font-style: italic">wrong.</span>â€<br/><br/>Alysia was annoyed. Quite visibly, in fact. Her foster parents stood in the doorway of her room, their faces having fallen at Alysiaâ€™s less than enthusiastic reaction to her new bedroom. <br/><br/>The normally stoic little girl found quite a few things wrong with the room. Firstly, it was blue. And not a nice navy blue. It was baby blue. And that bothered her. Secondly, it was accented <span style="font-style: italic">everywhere</span> with <span style="font-style: italic">white frills.</span> Ugh, it made her shudder. <br/><br/>Not only had her foster parents decided to move out of <span style="font-style: italic">their</span> house and into a new one closer to the heart of the town, but they had conveniently forgotten that Alysiaâ€™s favorite color was <span style="font-style: italic">red.</span> The stuffed rabbit with the red bow on his waistcoat, which dangled from her right hand by a paw, was a testament to this fact.<br/><br/>Her foster mother braved the rift between the doorway and the irked schizophrenic girl. â€œBut, dear, we believe this room will be best suited for you.â€ The woman smiled. â€œAnd you can add things you like to make yourself more comfortable.â€ She promised.<br/><br/>Alysia stared at her. <span style="font-style: italic">Comforting</span> was what they were aiming for. They wanted Alysia to be <span style="font-style: italic">comfortable</span> and <span style="font-style: italic">calm</span>, as if she would snap any second. Amanda Ursule was the womanâ€™s name, and her husband was Maxwell Ursule. Amanda was a certified child psychoanalyst while Maxwell had a PhD in psychology and worked as a shrink. Alysia always found it strange that such a pairing would exist, and the fact that they both had matching thick-rimmed glasses boggled her. <br/><br/>The girl raked a final glare about the room and was silent for a beat while she stared at the floor. Finally she huffed and grumbled, â€œFine.â€ She tightened her grip on Mister Rabbitâ€™s paw.<br/><br/>Mrs. Ursule beamed at her then at Mr. Ursule, who sent her a relieved look. <br/><br/>Whatever test they had just put her through, she had passed.<br/><br/>---<br/><br/>Mr. Ursule had a few appointments that afternoon, but Alysiaâ€™s foster parents never left her to herself or in the care of a babysitter. The reason was obvious, of course. <br/><br/>And so Alysia found herself being toted around with Ms. Amanda holding her hand. Amanda thought that Alysia ought to get acquainted with her new surroundings, because a comfortable psychopath was an easy psychopath. Mrs. Ursule had also demanded Alysia leave Mister Rabbit in the car. <br/><br/>But worst of all... Her foster mother had persuaded her to wear one of her new dresses. <br/><br/>The thing was fluffy and old fashioned, and that baby blue she hated so much. It also had those stupid white ruffles like her new room. Alysiaâ€™s silky, long black hair had also been tied away from her face with a little white ribbon, and the accompanying bow that resembled bunny ears bounced on the top of her head.<br/><br/>If you added in her miniscule height of four foot eight inches... She looked about ten years old.<br/><br/>Mrs. Ursule smiled and pointed to an odd little shop and gave a little â€˜ooh.â€™ â€œMy, oh, my! <span style="font-style: italic">Mystical Reinosha Waves</span>, what a fascinating name! What do you think Alysia?â€ Mrs. Ursule said with that tone of voice adults used when trying to get children excited about something.<br/><br/>Alysia glanced at it mildly as they passed. The shopâ€™s window was decorated with beads and ritzy-looking new age magic silliness. She sniffed indignantly and muttered:<br/><br/> â€œLooks like a load of <span style="font-style: italic">nonsense</span>.â€ </span>