... a long time ago.

... beneath jagged mountains, beneath a quiet blanket of snow ...

" ... go away ..."

The push was hard, the rough stone of the shelter's wall bit through the second hand tunic.

" ... we don't want you ..."

Scraps of parchment lost in the tumble, notes in a little girl's scrawl, in the buildings shadow, the ink running when touched by the banks of snow.

" ... no one wants you ... "

The taste of blood from a split lip, the harsh sound as cloth tears, the slicing of children's teasing words so much sharper than any paladin's sword.

" ... your real parents didn't want you ..."

Cut to the heart.

" ... you stupid orphan ...

" ... even your friends aren't real."

And at that she stood, fists clenched. Shaking, raising blackened eyes to the gang's leader, a head taller and but a few years older.

"Mezzy ..."

A heartbeat's pause.

"... help ..."

From the shadows came the glint of cobalt and black and a fel and terrible roar.

Her friends were too real.

Too real.