Everyone whispered about the girl who'd just moved in down the street, but no one had the courage to talk to her. She had hair like flames and her pale cheeks had freckles scattered across them like stars. Her eyes, seeming so sad and open when left alone, hardened at the sight of another's approach, and so everyone stayed away.
"Maybe she's in the witness protection system." They whispered.
"Maybe she's running from an abusive family." Responded others.
"Retired Secret Agent."
"Sociopath."
"Mental Patient."
"Serial killer."
"Religious zealot."
Sometimes she would hear them and smile sadly, thinking of another time, one of passion, family, and betrayal.
But whenever she would get too lost in her memories, she would look to the sky.
And Anna would be home.