Death is not as scary as you think, but life is.
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The little girl, around the age nine with long, black and disheveled hair, was walking around the people that were way above her age. She walked alone among the adults, looking all wary.
She would look over her shoulder every now and then, and then try her best to avoid people around her, as if by touching them, they would know what kind of black soul that she had or what dirty plans she had running in her head.
She didn't have any other choice. She didn't want to do this, but life was so cruel and hard for a little orphan girl like her.
This era was not kind to someone as helpless as her. It was the time when you were not an important person or from a prestigious family, even if you had died on the side of the street, no one would care until a night watchman found your dead body and took you away like garbage.
No pride. Nothing.
