I am a good girl, I do what I am told. Mistress takes my hands and closes her eyes? Of course, course, course I'm going to do the same. I am a good girl.

---

Warmth, a breeze catches my hair through an open window and blows it away from my face. I'm much shorter. This is long ago. I don't want to remember this, but I can't stop the images. I let out a soft breath I'd been holding in my chest and let it happen.

My finger wrap against the door, a soft knock and then I push it open. Inside she is there. The happy woman, the smiling woman. I bound over to her bed and jump into it without a care. A soft laugh, a cough, I hear her say something to me, muffled by the soft comforter I have sank into.

"Lyydea, Lyydea... it is too early. Mommy's tired right now, hon." Her smile is bright, and happy and warm and makes me want to smile, smile, smile! She's such a good owner. She's my first one I think. Always giving me hugs, the soft kind not the hurty kind. And making me food, and doesn't ask me to do anything I don't want to - lately she hasn't done as much. She is tired a lot. Usually asleep, or at the store picking up the bottles full of candy. She tells me it's not candy for me though. It's special candy to make her better.

I hope she's better. She's such a wonderful owner. "I wanted to make you something!" I squeal in girlish delight as she pulls me closer to her in the bed, hugging me warmly.

"Oh?" her soft voice questions, and I smile.

"Yes, yes! I know'm not suppose to use to cook without you but, I wanted you to feel better so pancakes and bacon and..."

There's a buzzing in the distance, a soft wail of warning. I see fear in her eyes, worry and concern as the smell hits me. The roiling black that rolls across the ceiling is the next thing I remember, the choking, gagging heat and her arms on me, pulling me stumbling. Then red and orange and the sound of screaming, and pain. I try and move her, but she's too big, I'm too small. I scream. She doesn't move.

Everything is black, when I can see again, cough again, breath again it's not her voice I hear.

"...cky anyone survived." a man's voice, a deep voice. "Where did it start?" A different voice, "Looks like the kitchen."

It fades and I do too, everything turns grey and dark around me and it is quiet all but one sentence that repeats, always repeats, forever repeats. "Only one survivor."

---

I pull back from the touch, the hands, her grip - I clench and clench and clench my head, hands digging into my hair as hot warmth spills from my eyes. "No, no, no. Didn't mean to. I'm a good girl. Didn't mean to."