A girl, apparently no older than the age of eleven, walked briskly around the ruined village. She stood about 5’2”, not including the wispy blonde hair that floated on top of the shoulders of a brown trench coat. Her slender hands stayed in the pockets for the time being, each of them resting lightly on an important item. She yawned, showing thirty-two perfect teeth. Wincing with each step, she slowly strode through the place, straight line, no distractions. She even spoke the words.

“No distractions.” She had a slightly authoritized voice, despite her non-aged look. A sigh escaped her thin lips, and indecipherable sigh—it was nearly impossible to tell if it was from joy, boredom, or sorrow. She always took this shortcut, as there were – as she was oredered – no(or less, rather) distractions.

Although, the pain in her feet was slightly distracting. A small lie, she thought, looking down at her scorched feet. One lie and they burn my feet. Well, I guess working for him, honesty is the only policy.