She wound the ribbon slowly between her fingers, and then pulled it through, the velvet side soft against the delicate skin, the shiny side cold. She wound the ribbon slowly, in and out, looping over then under then over her fingers again, whipping it out when she was done. Thin red lines appeared where the bonded edge scraped along her joints.
She focused on the ribbon, keeping her hands moving and her eyes still, unable to look at her
surroundings though they were etched on her mind. The pastel pink walls, the pale purple carpet. The shiny white furniture, the tiny wardrobe bursting with colourful dresses, the crib with its hand-carved rail and impossibly soft blankets. The tiny crayon drawings in the corners. The crack in the floorboard where it had been wrenched up to rescue a dropped doll-sized shoe. The mountains of plush toys on the windowseat. A room fit for a princess.
Except the princess was gone.
She wound the ribbon slowly between her fingers, and then pulled it through sharply.
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