Rats scurried about her legs, darting in and out of the mounds of trash she was currently hiding behind. Biting into her scarf to stifle the sounds of her surprise and her dislike, she hunkered more against a wall, trying to ignore the waves of nausea that washed over her as the smell settled in around her. How could rats stand that? If she was in hell just hiding behind all of that, how could they have managed to dive in with gusto, bobbing in and out of the ripped bags for their treasures and food? And their sheer size alone had her pressing as hard as she could into the solid brick behind her, squeezing her eyes shut and thinking of one of the songs she’d made up as a child when things got too much for her to handle.<br/><br/>The tune filled her head, her hands covering her ears through the hood to drown out the sounds of squeaks, trash being dislodged and the chatter of the vermin as they scurried about, unbothered by her.<br/><br/>Among the trash piles, the song playing in her head, everything else stopped around her as a realization hit her like a ton of bricks:<span style="font-style: italic">I’ve no idea where I’m going or what I’m doing.</span>Air rushing from her chest, she sagged forward, the rats the least of her concern all of a sudden as what little she knew of the outside world crashed in around her. The books she read were, at the very least, comfortably set 200 years prior to the present day. What sort of help would those be? There were no carriages to flag down. There was technology she’d not accounted for. There were cars. There was the need for identity and money, neither of which she had. It wasn’t like she could walk into an establishment and barter her way into lodgings; the cold, calculating way those who’d cared for her all those years dealt with her was telltale enough, without having to test the theory.<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Where do I go from here? Do I just keep walking until I can’t walk anymore? What do I do then? Where would I stay? Am I homeless now? Was that compound home? Do I want to be found?</span><br/><br/>Thought after thought rushed through her head on a malicious loop of self-doubt and worry, the rest of the world suddenly inconsequential to her dilemma. She’d not planned this out. She’d not considered all of the angles. Escaping one bad situation to land yourself in another wasn’t any better.<span style="font-style: italic">I’m putting people at risk just being out here,</span>Lily told herself, the fear of what could happen all too real now. No one knew of her existence, of her enigma. Even if she were careful, there was always a chance that an accident could happen and then where would she be? The cops wouldn’t have her identity, but that didn’t mean she’d be able to survive the guilt. Having killed her mother was bad enough; to kill more would kill her.<br/><br/>A sound caught her attention just as the rumbling beneath her feet registered. Panicked, she practically dove into the trash like the common rats she’d feared only moments before as something loud came to a stop. The hiss of breaks and the sound of steps coming toward her had her hyperventilating. No longer did the smell bother her as much as the impending presence did. Who were they? What did they want? What would they do? Could they see her?<br/><br/>In all the books she’d read, it was a cardinal rule: if you could see them, they could see you. Why didn’t that register as she was staring down this man who was currently staring her down?<span style="font-style: italic">Maybe if I don’t move…he’ll go away…</span>But, the longer he looked, the longer it was prevalent her hiding had been abysmal and he wasn’t about to ignore what he saw. The grey eyes that watched him were wide with fear, pressing more into the wall as she struggled to find her voice, to ease this man’s question with something witty, something to get him to leave.<br/><br/>“Nothing. We have nothing,” Lily tried, only to then kick herself for even bothering to speak, the only hint of her lack of conviction found in the furrowing of a barely visible brow, in the way the bridge of her nose scrunched. Sparing a quick glance away from him to take in more of her surroundings, searching for the men she’d run from, she saw nothing and returned her eyes back to him. “So…you can…go back to whatever it is you were doing. N-Nothing to see here…”<br/><br/><span style="font-style: italic">Yes, nothing to see here…except a girl who looks like a vagabond, hiding in a pile of trash.</span><br/><br/>Just then, for the first time in her entire existence, she wished she were back in the stark white room with the familiar.<br/><br/>For the first time, she wished she was back "home".