Elsa’s small footsteps echo in the empty basement. She brings light with her — and it’s not only because of her torch.
It’s her entire presence. Her little bunny shoes and her tiny sleeping dress.
She smells of marshmallow, honey, and the beginning of spring. If light has a smell then Elsa is it. Just like Mum smells like warmth.
Sometimes, I wonder if I’m talking to imaginary people like Mum. I thought of Silver and Kimberly’s dolls and then brought them to life so I can stay calm.
Dad says to always stay calm. Emotions can be my downfall. Just like my mum. He says she feels too much, and that’s why she cries a lot.
I think she cries a lot because he doesn’t feel enough.
Elsa tiptoes close to wrap the blanket around my shoulders. Since I’m taller, she strains and huffs in frustration, blowing on her golden strands.
My lips twitch as I lower myself so she can properly do it. She grins with triumph and drops her bag on the floor. There are a sandwich and a bottle of juice today.
“I did them behind Uncle Agnus’ back.” She puts a finger on her mouth. “Don’t tell him.”
I sit on the cold floor and take a bite of the sandwich. It’s filled with bacon, ham, and all sorts of cheese.
Elsa likes putting cheese everywhere. I don’t really care for it, but I eat anyway.
The red woman only gives me water, if it weren’t for Elsa, I would’ve starved.
“Thank you.” I swallow my first mouthful.
“If you want to thank me, tell me your name.”
She crouches in front of me, crossing her arms over her knees and leaning her head on her arm.
It’s become a habit of her to watch me like that.
Like I’m an alien.
I chew on my next bite slowly, thinking about her words.
Dad always says to never give my name to someone with bad vibes. Elsa doesn’t give bad vibes, but she lives in a place that does.
The red woman looks so much like her, too. Maybe one day, she’ll be the same.
Elsa frowns. “Why don’t you tell me your name? I told you mine.”
I remain silent.
“I’ll just call you Grey Eyes then.” She grins as if she came up with the most unique nickname.
“I had a teddy bear named Ted, but I had to give it to two children like you. If I still had it, I’d give it to you.”
I continue chewing silently.
“If I can’t find the keys that open your cuff, I’ll tell Daddy when he comes back. He’ll save you like he saved them.”
Still, I say nothing. One, I’m hungry. Two, I like it better when she talks. Her voice is like a classical melody, soft, elegant, and… peaceful.
“How old are you?” she asks.
“Eight.”
“I’ll also be eight soon.” Her missing tooth shows when she smiles big. “We can be friends.”