At times she would open her mouth, ready to ask where his father has gone off to. But closed it instantly, remembering it wasn't her place to ask. She couldn't ask questions like that. She didn't deserve to have her voice heard. Maybe that was it. They were growing tired of her, having her locked up in her room like a prisoner. She was starting to feel like she had never left the cell. It was all too similar. The room was different, of course, but not the feeling. The growing coldness, the absence of heat, and warmth. The paleness of the colours on the walls. Nothing had meaning. She was growing cold and back into her old habits. She wished someone would care for her, but the one person who did just that left. He left without even telling her.