Waif to Lady

nearly twisted her ankle, but immediately straightened her body.

It wasn''t until the lengthy evening prayer at the bedside was over, and each girl climbed into her own bed, that this ten-year-old girl buried herself in the covers and silently sobbed.

She felt like the most unfortunate person in the world - having briefly tasted the warmth of home and loved ones, only to be ruthlessly abandoned once again.

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Edith tiptoed into Andre''s bedroom, where the lights were still on. His head was tilted to one side of the pillow, his brow slightly furrowed, appearing to have fallen into a deep slumber.

As she walked closer, she followed his arm hanging over the bed, noticing the book lying on the floor. It seemed he had pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion before involuntarily succumbing to sleep.

The short candle on the bedside table was flickering weakly, barely hanging on to life. Its dim light cast an intoxicant, crimson glow on his virginal, pallid cheek.

She reached out to brush aside his messy golden locks, which partially obscured his face, and then bent down to gently blow out the candle for him.

Andre''s sleep was always very light, but tonight he seemed undisturbed, perhaps too worn out to be stirred.

Edith, dressed in a white nightgown, stood silently by his bed like a ghost, her face expressionless. As her eyes gradually adjusted to the darkness, she could once again see the statuesque contours of his face in the shadows. Only the sound of his slightly short breaths echoed in her ears.

She began to question herself unconsciously: Could it be that her love for him was all along just for the halo around him, for everything that he symbolized?

Could there really be evil hidden behind this exterior of an archangel? Was he not as innocent as a lamb, as scorching as a blaze? Which side of him was the real him, and which side was truly a facade? These que