I turn left at the old oak tree that I've passed five times before. There is no way that I am lost. 

I've traveled these dirt paths since I was three years old, the dust practically jumps at my presence. I pull my cloak tighter over my head, to keep my long red hair pulled back and out of view. Anything bright can attract unwanted attention, and my hair was basically glowing with hot embers. 

Brushing the dirt off my third generation brown dress, I make my way past the oak tree once more. I will not admit that I am lost. So I turn right.

Swinging the satchel I carry everywhere, I count the number of beads still fastened in place from when it was hand made 13 years ago. Four. Four beads out of twenty-eight. I run my hand over the fabric holding the sides together. I can still feel the burned strands from that time when I dropped it into the fire on accident. My mother retrieved it almost immediately and laid it carefully back into my hands, ignoring the burning fabric. Pressing it into my palms she whispered that I shall never lose it. That it is mine. She whispered that it is who I am. I still have the burns.

With a fresh path ahed of me, I count the number of buttons sewn into the inside. There are nine. I frown. Only yesterday I remember counting all ten. A shadow falls over my head and I look up, finding myself face to face with that old oak tree. I am not lost. 

Desperate to get away from the reaper that constantly reminds me of my situation, I go forwards, knowing that I will surely never see the tree again. I tread lightly, hoping not to alert anything, or anyone of my presence, as night is falling, and night is when the things come out. 

I note everything that falls on my path. A puddle, a dead frog, and another dead frog that lies about 15 feet away from it. They look like they suffered. They didn't even get to die next to each other. I walk away, hanging my head in guilt at the lives stolen from these two siblings in life. 

I note an owl, a snake, a bird... and a tree. There it is. Standing in all its glory. Its God stolen glory. I shudder at the sight of it. 

Slinking down to the ground, I pick up a rock that lays innocently a foot away from me. Silently offering my condolences, I hurtle the rock at the tree in frustration. It sails straight through the trunk. I rub my eyes in confusion, cursing my brain for showing me something that truly wasn't there. 

I try not to give in to the curiosity, but I feel myself gliding towards the oak before I can stop myself. I hesitantly reach my hand to feel the bark, but like the rock, my hand passes through its exterior. 

Tilting my head to the side, I gather up my dress and step cautiously through the tree. I smile. I am not lost. 

She is lost.

She is totally and utterly lost.

I've watched her travel in circles for hours, confused and afraid, trying so very hard to convince herself that she is not lost. But I know better, and deep down, I think she does too.

The way she copes makes me smile. She tries to distract herself with memories and little tasks. I can feel her happiness from all the way up here in the trees. She is giving off such a strong aura of peace, I've never seen anyone with that much hope. But that doesn't change the fact that she's lost.  

How she doesn't realize that she herself is the one that stepped through the barrier in the first place escapes my mind. Surely she must have felt the change in temperature, felt it drop 30 degrees. Or how the trees never seem to end. They just keep climbing upwards until someone tells them to stop. 

But I guess it's hard to spot the differences when you're not looking. They must just pass you by, like a spider when it doesn't want to be found. 

I look around the forest. Her imagination is pretty dull. I'm imagining that this is what the real world looks like. Because all she's thinking about is home. Unfortunately though, her home isn't in this world, which is why she keeps circling the door. 

Mother is doing her best to discern her thoughts and emotions; I can feel her frustration through the branches as she struggles to find any fears to play with. The girl is strong. I admire that trait. Mostly because it's one of my best. 

My favorite to be exact. 

I wonder if I should clue the girl in. Tell her where the door is. But I don't think her mind could handle meeting me. Yes she's strong, but she'd notice the connection right away. I don't think Mother would like that. She likes most of her victims to be kept in the dark. I was protected from her for most of my life, and I'm not quite ready to sacrifice my location to save some girl's head.

What she doesn't know won't kill her, and I think it should stay that way.

So as I watch her step through the door, I chuckle quietly at how she has no idea of the vast world she just experienced, and how different her life will now be. I hope she figures out how to tell the real world from the imaginative one, but I have a feeling I'll be seeing her soon. Because she has no clue how lost she really is.

Hopefully I can save her.