~ Lucy’s Profaning ~

by Alexander de Barr

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Lucy took a step towards the stone door. Its surface was old and frayed, layered with damp moss and flowering creepers. White shards of cold moonlight pierced through the cloudy veil of the night sky, reflecting off of the freezing granite, tapping angrily at the young girl’s retinas; she raised one hand to shield her gaze from their intensity. “Where is Mr. Deringer?”

She leaned closer to the great door, intent on examining it, but the overgrown vegetation obstructed her: this site had not been tended to in a long, long time.

She began pulling at the vines with her soft hands. Some yielded with little effort, whilst others gave way with strain. The young lady climbed on top of a large fallen slab to reach the biggest vine, which grew out of a massive hole in the shrine’s outer wall. By the time Lucy was done clearing the doorway, her palms were black with dirt and sticky with viscous sap.

The entrance leading to the underground sepulchre was rectangular, towering above her head at a good twenty feet. With no obvious lever or handle to open the massive double door that obstructed her, Lucy was at a loss as to what to do next. Mr. Deringer’s gift, the orb, came to mind. “Maybe it’s a key of sorts?”

She fumbled through her purse until she found the shiny black object. Allegedly it was hand-carved centuries ago, but that couldn’t be true: despite its supposed age it looked new, almost timeless, and besides, its spherical shape was too perfect, the gleam of its varnished exterior too strong, the black of its wood too deep to have been made by men’s hands, no matter how skilled. The orb rested neatly in her dirty palms, no bigger than an apple. The sticky sap from her hands refused to cling to its lacquered surface, even as she turned it over and over again under the moonlight: it wanted to stay pristine.

The orb, like the door, was made of two perfect halves that interlocked. They complemented each other and could be rotated like an egg timer. Scattered to and fro across the halves were simple circular sigils of unknown origin, some etched in gold, some embedded in silver, which had become dull with age, and some empty wooden gashes, carved deeply and with great care: the sphere bore them like the scarifications from an intense whipping. Standing in front of the great doorway, Lucy, cradling this little black apple in her palms, began playing with it.

At first, she held it so its equator was horizontal and turned the upper half until the sigils aligned with those of the lower. But several different alignments seemingly matched. The orb made no special sound to indicate progress. She looked for pressure points: none to be found. “Where is Mr. Deringer? He said he would be here at midnight. Surely he would know what to do…”

She then turned it vertically, aligning its equator with that of the doorway. She looked for another line along which the puzzle could rotate and again, came up empty-handed. In frustration, she began straining the box, wringing it like a piece of old cloth, desperately looking for some pressure point, button, or hidden latch. All of this was to no avail.

Now she lifted the orb high above her head: the moonlight sank into its right hemisphere, as if some black hole were siphoning it away with greedy purpose. Within the contraption, beneath its shiny exterior, several decorated layers were superimposed on top of a dark red core that was its jewelled centre. The dirt and fingerprints from her clumsy manipulations now smudged the black apple, obscuring her vision. She began rubbing it gently with the white of her dress, and as she did, it began to hum.

“I can’t be imagining this!”

Faint vibrations, barely perceptible at first, emanated from within. The tremors spread through the tips of her fingers to her hands, turned to cool, pleasurable shivers, and travelled up her arms to her neck and into the back of her head. A soft pink warmth enveloped her, like the soothing heat from the first morning sunbeams, and shielded her from the now biting chill of the night. Lucy’s eyes closed, and she sank into what felt like a hot spring. Her thoughts paused. A little warm ball of sunlight fluttered in her chest, lifting and caressing her heart.

When her eyes opened again, the moon was gone, hidden behind a billowing shroud. She still held the orb, now clean and shiny once more, but something had changed: It was no longer a perfect sphere. It had split along the middle. If she could wedge her nails down the furrow perhaps it would give way and reveal its secrets. She tugged ever so gently, and the orb extended into her palms, making intricate clicking sounds as its inner workings uncoiled. Then, a thunderous boom!

Lucy looked up to see the doors of the sepulchre; they had parted suddenly by an inch. A thick dust cloud blasted out from the crevice, covering her from head to toe in dust and soot. She gagged, coughed, and covered her mouth. The orb fell at her feet, into the moist, glistening grass, and rolled away. Anxiously, she dropped to her knees in search of it.

“Lucy!” — A man’s voice called out from the shadows.

Mr. Deringer was behind her, leaning against a majestic oak. He was a tall, slender man with intense auburn eyes. He dressed in a fine suit of deep burgundy red, adorned in places with ornate patterns depicting thorned roses, under which he wore a pinkish-white chemise. Whilst he did dress elegantly, his style was most peculiar and surely drew attention, for better or worse. And though he was in his early forties at the most, his hair was of the purest white. His shoes were fine black snake leather, polished to a mirror sheen and far too luxurious to be worn whilst trudging around in the wild, and he’d brought with him his customary ebony walking stick, tipped with a golden pommel.

“Hello, my dear. I see you’ve made progress,” he said with a pleased grin.

“Mr. Deringer! You made it,” the young girl exclaimed. “I must be a poor sight to behold, filthy as I am.”

He locked eyes with her and stepped into the clearing. Over his burgundy suit he a wore black coat, whose collar was lined with white fur, giving him a savage yet sensual appearance. He politely removed his top hat and offered her a gloved hand. She took it gladly and lifted herself off of the damp ground. Much to her surprise, the orb was rolling around inside Mr. Deringer’s hat. “But… I’m certain it fell at my feet…”

“I’ll take it from here,” he said assuredly.

He dropped the round bauble into her hands and made his way to the ever-so-slightly opened door, which he tapped three times firmly with the pommel of his walking stick. The sharp cracks sent shockwaves through the clearing that dazed Lucy, bringing her to her knees again; it was as if he’d knocked on her skull.

Mr. Deringer didn’t notice. His attention was focused on the door, waiting for its reaction: he was certain of his method, but there was always a small doubt…

Total silence befell the clearing, as if the wind had carried off all of nature’s creatures.

Then, suddenly, there was a deep, raspy heave. The doors were pulled from each other with tremendous force. Mr. Deringer stood there, unflinching. The look on his face turned to one of satisfaction. Stone racked against stone, the ground trembled, ancient hidden mechanisms turned and shifted until finally the doors opened.

The clouds parted once again, shining a singular beam into the open portal, as if the heavens were inviting them in. Mr. Deringer turned to the young maiden. “You must go first. I will follow.”

Going on an adventure was an exciting idea, but now it was quite real: subtle fear clawed at the back of Lucy’s mind and tickled her throat. But she felt safe enough in the presence of her mysterious companion. “We don’t have a light. How will we see?” she asked.

“Your eyes will get accustomed to the dark,” he replied with an attractive smile as he extended an inviting arm towards the now open stone mouth that yearned to gobble them up.

Lucy took a few steps forward until she came to the top of a vertiginous stairway that sank into the bowels of the earth. It was damp, and so very silent too. She paused a moment, soaking it all in.

“Are you ready, my dear?”

“I am.”

They began their descent.

The stairs were uneven. Each step Lucy took had to be taken with great care. The centuries had not been kind to this place. The earthen ceiling was low, old support pillars were brittle, and some had given way completely. The girl struggled with every step, whilst Mr. Deringer glided quietly behind her. He was quite at ease, seemingly used to spelunking.

The darkness grew thicker. Lucy glanced back over her shoulder. The moon peeped down at her through the entrance, which was now as small as a pearl. Soon they would lose sight of each other entirely. The gentleman and his protégé pushed on a little further.

Suddenly, a wail resonated up from the abyss.

Lucy gasped, “What was that?”

“It sounded like a child. A little girl maybe…” Mr. Deringer said.

“Why would anyone be down here?”

It was too dark to see. Lucy’s mind was racing, conjuring up all manner of dangers that could be lying in wait for them.

The cry didn’t faze her mentor, though. He stood quite calmly, waiting for Lucy to regain her composure. She was hesitating. Part of her wanted to turn back.

“If that was indeed a child, then she needs our help. I insist, my dear, that we press on,” Mr. Deringer said, beckoning her forward with his hand.

Some time passed before they came to the last step. The descent gave way to a long corridor, bathed in pitch blackness. Mr. Deringer motioned to the girl.

“Take out the orb, my dear.”

She pulled it from her bag and presented it to him. He took it in his velveted hands, pressed the two halves back together to form a sphere again, and began rubbing one side in a circular pattern with his thumb. At his touch, a few glyphs began to glow a bright orange. The blaze, subtle at first, moved along the orb’s surface, jumping from one glyph to another. Mr. Deringer trailed it with his thumb. The light grew in intensity, diving one layer inward, then another, until it reached the ruby in the contraption’s core, which burst into flames: the orb had turned into a lamp.

“That’s amazing!” Lucy exclaimed.

Mr. Deringer smiled casually.

“How did you know to do that?” the young maiden asked.

“I’ve been toying with trinkets like this one for what seems like ages.”

Mr. Deringer raised the orb. The passage was now illuminated. The stone and dirt tunnel, bathed in fiery light, stretched off into the distance.

They advanced a little ways. The hard ground became soft. Lucy could feel what she thought were bits of paper under her shoes. Mr. Deringer shined the light down: the floor was carpeted in discarded snake skins. The girl recoiled.

“It’s alright, my dear,” he said calmly, “I don’t see any snakes about.”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea!”

“We’ll be careful, but fear not: there are no poisonous snakes in the region,” he said in a reassuring tone.

They strengthened their resolve and pushed on further, inspecting the ground with watchful eyes. Mr. Deringer took the lead, his shoes making dust of the reptilian vestiges as he advanced, Lucy now in tow.

After some time, the pair’s forward progress was halted by a thick wall of cobwebs, drawn across the tunnel like a sheet. So dense were the silky strands of web that one could not see what lay beyond them. A fat brown spider, the size of a walnut, was resting in its centre.

“My dear,” Mr. Deringer said as he raised his walking stick, “do you want me to do this?”

Lucy nodded and stepped aside. Her mentor poked the spider, which had been resting quietly, with the tip of his cane; it fell to the ground, and scurried off. Lucy jumped and leaped into Deringer’s arms.

“It’s just a spider. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“Thank God you’re with me, sir. I don’t know if I would have the courage to do this without you.”

“No one expects you to do this alone,” he said with a playful grin.

She blushed, forgetting for a moment where they were.

The man handed her the walking stick and extended an arm towards the webs. She raised it and struck, poking them right down the middle, all the way down to the ground, then back up to the very top, severing the sheet neatly in two.

“Bravo,” Mr. Deringer exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

The sheets of webbing flapped in the gentle breeze. Lucy hoped to pass without touching them. She flattened herself as much as she could and slid through, but a strong gust of wind arose, and the sticky webs latched onto her dress. Panic gripped her belly. Thoughts of millions of tiny spiders running up her legs jumped into her mind. She turned to pull herself free, but as she thrashed, the webs reached out like ravenous hands, grabbing her by the hair, by the throat, and at the waist. Mr. Deringer cut at the remaining webbing with his stick, whilst Lucy pulled away to the other side, panting, covered in dust and spider silk.

“Everything’s fine. Stay calm.”

She steadied her breathing as she brushed the sticky substance from her hair and dress. Mr. Deringer passed through, his clothes unmolested.

“Maybe you should go first, sir?” Lucy asked innocently.

“I’m afraid I cannot. I can only guide you. You chose this. You knew things would get messy. And they will get messier still…”

“But…” Lucy stammered.

“Keep your eye on the prize, dear. What you seek is just up ahead.”

He lifted the orb, banishing the encroaching darkness.

“You still want it, don’t you, girl?”

“I do.”

The pair moved on, into the unknown, until they came to a partially caved-in section of the tunnel. The floor was soaked and muddy. The ceiling had collapsed, and water was seeping in. A damp stench of sulphur and mould filled the air.

“You’ll have to crawl to get by,” Mr. Deringer said.

Lucy looked down at the ground. She’d have to go through the opening flat on her belly, through the muck and debris.

“What if it collapses on me? What if I get stuck?” she asked fearfully.

“Take the orb.”

Mr. Deringer handed her their spherical torch. She took it in her left hand.

“What about you?”

“I’ll follow. You go through first.”

Lucy took off her shoes, cast them aside along with her purse, and kneeled down in the brown muddy waters. Small stones stuck to her thighs and pressed into the skin of her knees. It was warm. “There must be a hot spring nearby.”

She got down on all fours and eased her body into the lukewarm pool, holding the orb close to her chest. Her dress soaked up the water, imbibing the liquid earth. The thick mud yielded and wrapped around her, sliding up her thighs, between her breasts, around her shoulders, reaching up to her neck, and into her hair. She struggled to keep her head above water and from letting go of her lamp.

As she crawled and slid through the narrow passage, her dress got caught on something. A snag. She fell forward, her head plunging under the mud, her mouth open as she tried to scream. Water and earth covered her tongue and threatened to run down her throat. She backed up and lifted her head above the surface. She wanted to unbutton her blouse with her one free hand, but there was no time. Sensing the danger she was in, she pushed and tugged until her dress yielded: straps ripped, stitchings cracked, buttons tore off and were lost, and she slid out of her frock entirely. When she emerged from the watery burrow, covered in hot muck and gasping for air, she was nude. She extirpated herself from the cave in, spat and coughed harshly a handful of times, wiped her face, and checked her surroundings: she’d emerged into a large chamber.

Lucy, trembling, naked and dirty, rose to her feet, one hand covering her breasts, the other holding the glistening orb. In the centre of this carefully crafted room was a large marble slab, like that of a mausoleum. It was ornate, decorated, with a hole in the ceiling that let in the moonlight; it made for an extraordinary display.

The warmth on Lucy’s skin faded, and the nibbling cold of the subterranean chamber began gnawing at her flesh. She looked at the orb. All the mud and dirt had slid from its surface; it was pristine, and the supernatural fire that burnt inside emitted a small amount of heat. She began rubbing it with both hands. “Maybe if I try this…”

The fire inside it grew, expanded. After a moment it became blinding. And the heat grew and became intense, so much so that Lucy almost dropped the contraption. She trotted towards the altar, her bare feet pattering against the stone floor, as she juggled the now bright red sphere from one hand to the other and placed it in a cup-like indent that seemed tailor-made to receive it. It burst into light briefly before settling.

“Well done. I knew you would make it.”

Lucy jumped back and turned. Mr. Deringer was standing a few feet behind her. His clothes were immaculate.

“Mr. Deringer! How did you get through?”

He grinned devilishly. His eyes were filled with a playful hunger.

Lucy covered her breasts with one hand, her flower with the other.

“You look so raw and beautiful, Lucy, dirty as you are.”

He took a step towards her. She took a step back: something had changed in him. He took another step forward, and she another back, until she was pressed up against the altar.

“Mr. Deringer! What is going on? Where is the secret?”

With a smirk he answered, “Right here.”

He reached into his sleeve and pulled from it a small silver dinner bell and held it upside down for a brief instant, giving Lucy just long enough to wonder what he was up to; then he rang it. The sound that came was like no bell the girl had ever heard. The ring bounced around the chamber, then in her ears and settled inside her mind. Her thoughts became murky.

Deringer then raised his right hand towards her. Lucy felt a soft pressure around her wrists. Her arms began to rise as if possessed by a will of their own. Inch by inch they lifted until they were outstretched high above her head, and then they continued: the girl had to stand on the tips of her toes to keep up with them.

“What’s happening? What are you doing?”

The walls of the chamber began to tremor, like one’s reflection in a pool of water undulating in the breeze. This undulation spread to the floor, to the ceiling, and even to the moonlight. Everything faded into darkness. All that Lucy could see was her body, the altar behind her, and Mr. Deringer, standing there, confident and serene in his power.

“Who are you?” she asked, with a tremor in her voice.

The ground under Mr. Deringer’s feet pulsated. He remained perfectly still, always grinning, as he sank into the floor and disappeared.

His voice echoed across the room: “I am an old god, as old as time itself. I have known you, and you me, countless times before, even if you do not remember.”

The air in the young girl’s back shifted: an obscure figure emerged up out of the ground, rising until its head was well above hers.

Two large hands reached around Lucy from behind and clutched her exposed breasts. She tilted her head back and let out a deep gasp. One hand moved up to her neck, grabbing it firmly, the other down to her belly, around her hips and between her thighs, and back again. The muscular fingers caressed her muddy skin, warming it, making it theirs. The clay on her body yielded at their touch. She writhed, meekly, as she sought an escape.

“What are you?” she asked sheepishly.

“Let me show you,” it said in a deep, powerful voice.

Lucy turned her head to see her tormentor. This was not the suave man she’d met at the Museum of Natural History. This wasn’t the eccentric gentleman who’d gained her trust over the past few months, the one in whom she’d confided so much. Had he ever been a man to begin with?

His hands were no longer lean but powerful and muscular; he towered above the young girl; his body was cloaked, like a villain on a theatre stage, his skin a dark pale purple; his fiery eyes gleamed with ardent desire; his fanged grin reflected the moonlight in the dark. “What a delightfully sinful flower you are, my dear.”

He glided to her side, groping her breasts with one hand, caressing her buttocks with the other. The wet dirt on her body made a viscous noise as it slid between his fingers. Lucy’s plump cheeks ached from blushing.

“Surrender, and you will know an ecstatic release few ever experience.”

She began panting. Her mind went numb. Her body was on fire. Fear and desire mixed, becoming inseparable. “What am I feeling? What should I do? I’m so scared…I want to give in!”

“Don’t hurt me…”

Her breasts swelled. Her nipples hardened until they were as little stones. He sensed it, grabbing one in between two rough, mauve fingers. Grinning, he pressed a sharp claw against it, ever so slightly: a pinprick of pain raced to the tips of Lucy’s ears. She gasped.

“You’ll learn to love it. Somewhere deep down, you already do or you wouldn’t have come here,” the dark creature whispered. “You wanted out. Don’t you remember?”

“Please, don’t kill me…”

The devil let out a maniacal laugh that bounced off the walls of the chamber and echoed into the night. Lucy was petrified.

“You wanted adventure. You wanted to leave your pampered life behind. You wanted to explore the unknown…”

He grabbed her chin between his thumb and index finger and turned her face to his; she was powerless to stop him. His lips approached hers. He squeezed her cheeks, opening her mouth wide.

“The unknown is dark, and in the dark there are monsters.”

The young girl tried in vain to close her mouth, but soon his lips locked with hers. He slid his tongue into her mouth; she jerked but couldn’t move. He prodded around, licking the backs of her teeth. She could feel the tips of his sharp incisors pressing against the soft flesh of her face. A shiver ran up her spine.

She pulled her tongue away, but he pursued it. She dodged and danced left and right but it was hopeless; her little pink tongue was no match for his long, agile, and inhuman appendage, which swiftly subdued and wrapped around hers, like a boa capturing a mouse.

Suddenly the urge to look at him seized her. As her eyelids lifted, she was greeted by his hypnotic stare: he was waiting for her. She attempted a retreat but found that she could not. Her gaze was fixed. She peered deeply into his eyes, full of hunger and lust, they were hypnotic. Waves wrapped around her head, entered her mind, and quieted it, easing her resistance. The current then spread down to her stomach, which was tied in a knot with terror and dread. The tensions loosened, then faded entirely: her body relaxed; her toes uncurled; her joints softened. Feeling as if wrapped in a warm cloud of steam, she took a deeply satisfying breath of air. Her feeling expanded outward in all directions.

“In the dark there is power.”

“Yes…”

A ripple passed from his tongue to hers, making its way into her mouth and down her throat to her underbelly. Lust began to boil in her loins. The inner heat became overbearing, overpowering. She moistened more than she had already: he was preparing her.

The creature placed a hand on the nape of her neck and gently ran his claws down her back. She took another deep breath through her nose this time and let out a gasp from her midriff. He ran his other hand down her back, abrading her soft skin with his talons. He grabbed her butt-cheeks and dug his claws in. Her legs spasmed; they tried to wrap around his waist but gave up halfway. He released, then, again, clenched her in his grasp. His nails buried into her soft flesh. She could feel prickling in the crown of her head: it was ecstasy. A thin drip of blood ran down her thigh. The creature glided back and faded.

“Is it over?”

Lucy was left suspended in the air, vulnerable, just long enough to wonder whether she was relieved or disappointed. There was no sound, no movement.

Then, a cool breeze upset the stillness of the chamber. It danced about the room, licking its boundaries as it picked up in intensity, before morphing into a flurry. It danced back and forth for a time. Then it came at Lucy, howling madly like a banshee, crashing into her with ravenous ferocity, whipping at her from head to toe.

The girl’s screams filled the room: she was certain she would die. Her heart pounded in her chest. She grit her teeth and pulled her legs up to protect her belly, bracing herself for pain unspeakable. Instead, the gale lashed the mud from her body, taking exquisite care not to hurt her. Wet earth went flying in all directions, covering the floor with streaks of moist clay. Overwhelmed, she blacked out. When all was done, Lucy was left pure, hanging in midair, a newly ripened fruit waiting to be plucked from her tree.

When she awoke, she was lying on the altar. The moonlight shone a spotlight down on her. The darkness encircled her, waiting to pounce. The room felt like the centre of the world. She moved to sit up, but her arms were shackled above her head with iron manacles. Lying on the marble slab, in the cold light of the night, she was a virgin sacrifice.

The devil was at her side, disrobing. The purple skin of his back was covered in deep scars and exotic markings.

Her mind wanted to speak, but her body was content to wait, having accepted its fate. “I’m going to die here. I should never have come.”

He climbed onto the altar with her and began kissing her body. She closed her eyes, too afraid to look. “Do what you will. I accept it.”

She felt her thighs part. She felt him climb up on top of her. She felt the weight of his body press against hers and pin her down. She felt his hard member push up against her flower and part its petals as it made its way inside. She felt its tip press against her chastity. His weight shifted forward; he pierced through, helping himself to her purity.

She braced for a great pain that never came. Each of his thrusts hurt, but somehow it was enjoyable. She longed to press her hands against his chest, to feel his lean muscles, to wrap around him, and draw him closer.

He grabbed her firmly by the hair and pulled her head back and to the side, exposing her jugular, before sinking his fangs into it. Lucy didn’t even flinch as he began to drink. The suction from his mouth tugged at her vestigial innocence. It felt to her like an apple, being pulled from deep within her loins, moving through to her belly, then past her heart, up to her throat, and finally out the wound in her neck. It was his feast: he devoured it avidly. Her body lifted to ease his task. As he finished, she could feel a space emptying behind her loins. “Take it all. I’m ready to be what you want me to be.”

The creature, satiated, let her fall back onto the cold stone and resumed coupling with her. Soft and sensual at first, his thrusts became deeper, quicker, and harsher—more selfish. He carried her on the crest of a wave that grew taller, fell from higher, and rose taller still, breaking again and again, faster and faster, until it reached its peak, before crashing thunderously onto the jagged rocks. He climaxed. She received.

She became a vessel to be filled with his lust, his vitality, his hunger, his confidence, his drive, his power, his cunning, and his bewitching magnetism. Her body lapped it all eagerly. She felt the dark warmth of his essence fill her deepest and most intimate parts. His release, like sentient treacle, rushed to fill the cavity that he’d hollowed out in her underbelly moments ago. Once nestled in place, it began to hum. The reverberations coming from her loins spread, reaching outward to the rest of her. Lucy was pulled into a tunnel of deep black and gold waves; they tinged her hips, changing her gait; they wrapped around her shoulders, imbuing her posture with seductive flair; they touched her face, sharpening her gaze; they pricked her lips, making them succulent and luscious; they impregnated her heart, and she felt the whole world drawn to her, pulled towards her, rushing to fill her with its gifts. A wave of ecstasy, like a great gasp of relief, passed up through her body, reaching her fingertips, shooting out the tips of her toes, and finally bursting through her eyes, her mouth, her face. The many ensuing climactic moans were raw, deafening, and true: they filled the chamber again and again.

Then, she fainted: everything went blank.

Some time elapsed before Lucy came to, alone on the marble slab. Sunlight rained down on her through the hole in the ceiling. By instinct, she raised a hand to shield her sight. To her surprise, her shackles were undone. She got to her feet, one hand pressed against her slightly sore belly. Mr. Deringer was, like her manacles, nowhere to be found. The orb was gone too. The only trace left of him was running down her inner thigh, tinted pink with her blood. She checked her neck for a bite mark; the skin was raw, but there was no wound.

The young woman made her way back to the entrance, crawling first through the muddy cave-in, from which she managed to pry her dress. It was in tatters, so she left it behind. Her shoes and purse were patiently waiting for her on the other side. She took them in her muddy hands and carried on.

As she reached the stairway, it occurred to her to check her purse: along with her belongings, she found a freshly shed snakeskin.

She took it out nonchalantly and laid it to rest among the others.

When she emerged into the clearing, naked as a new-born babe, breathless from her long climb, she was greeted by a bright sunny day. As the doors closed behind her, she heard the cries of the young girl she’d left behind.

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