Refuge; "shelter or protection from danger or distress." Originating from Old French refuge "hiding place", from Latin refugium. This was one among many of the misleading words taught to Lucy during the elocution lessons of her early years. Before refuge there had been elequition, home, and illness. What began as a mere cold quickly became influenza. Lucy's home, once filled with the laughter of her brother and two sisters, became a quiet, desolate place. Friends who had promised to always stay by her, turned their backs without a word. At the end of all this, after orphanage, runaway, urchin, and alone there was the Refuge.
Lucy was eight when she first came to the Refuge. She had been hungry and broken from weeks living on the streets, and when winter came Lucy knew that she wouldn't last much longer. Stumbling from alley to alley she saw this huge grey building filled with a warm glow that reminded her just how cold she really was. The longer she stared at that glow the more present the bitter cold pain on her fingers and nose became. Then there was the sign, The Refuge. It was old and beaten, but the cursive writing was clear enough, and the thought of shelter was too tempting to resist. Oblivious to the warning looks sent from the highest windows, where the warm light didn't quite reach, she knocked.
Snyder had been so polite. Welcoming even. He didn't for a moment hesitate to let Lucy in, even inviting her to chat in his office where a warm fire burned. He asked all sorts of questions about her life, and her family. That was the main thing really. Where was home? Looking back now she could see the split second he realised she was alone and vulnerable. Profitable. Her expensive frock was nothing next to her orphan status. His gaze hardened and his smile dropped quicker than anything. In that moment Lucy saw this quiet and kind face transform into marvel and happiness in a face so contorted with loathing that it felt like her heart might have stopped from the shock. Five minutes later found her in a crowded room with a broken nose and a twisted arm that shot pain to move, and dozens of spindly children that wouldn't look at her from the moment she'd said a word. After all, Lucy's words were too big, and her accent, "too hoi polloi for da rest a' us."
Lucy stayed up the entire night the first couple of days she was there, just trying to mimic the voices of all the people around her. It wasn't long before she was caught by her bunkmates and they kicked at her to stop. The kids of the refuge weren't too open to others. The longer she sat in her corner of her bunk with no one to talk to, the heavier the loneliness became. After a week or so of the pain and loneliness she fell into the same pattern as the rest; she'd sleep until the hunger woke her, then try to fall asleep again. When she really couldn't sleep late at night she'd try again to mimic the accents around her. When she'd first worked up the courage to try again there'd even been a boy there, Crutchie, who caught her practicing that first night and decided then and there to help her. He even helped trying to set her nose. The pain was too much to properly set it, and the boy was really just going for pushing the bone into a straight line, who knew if he was doing it right? However, what he did ultimately helped a lot with the continuous pains, and when she cried at the setting it was partially with happiness to have found a friend. The two of them would stay up until everyone else fell asleep, then he'd teach her a phrase in his accent, and she'd help with his letters in return. She'd speak to him in her newfound accent whenever she could, especially after Snyder had paid his visits. Her attempts always seemed to make Crutchie smile, and his smile could brighten the darkest day. Lucy almost had the confidence to let the others hear her again when Crutchie too went away.
It was six weeks after that that things began to change.