She watches the busy city streets with lost, lonely eyes. The people cannot see her, but she sees them, and thinks wistfully of what she thinks she used to have.

She cannot remember for sure. She does not even remember her own name. All she knows is that she was human once, a long time ago, and that she did something wrong, something terribly wrong. Why else would they make her suffer so?

She does not know who they are, but she knows that they must be listened to, obeyed at all costs.

It is a lonely existence, to be so alone, without even one’s memories to comfort one’s self.