Embers danced across the sky, celebrating like fireworks for the tragedy that had occurred only twenty-four hours ago. Even the clouds that caused the accident had long since moved on, only a dark smudge on the horizon now.
Crys and her mother wandered through the wreckage like ghosts, pale imitations of people against the darkened landscape. Dust and ash laid with the charred remains of wooden foundations, and the whole area still smelled of smoke.
Crys, only six years old, sat on the bottom step, the only step that had survived the fire, and stared up at the sky. Dad, Lila, Bunny, they were all gone. And her mother couldn't even look her in the eyes. She had no friends, no family. No reality.
So she'd make her own.
