She climbed the wall separating her house from the meadow and sunk into the grass. The meadow was truly beautiful. The grass was soft and lush, and covered the meadow like a soft carpet, a place to sink into and forget all her worries. Trees dotted the meadow – tall, ancient trees she loved to climb and loose herself within their leaves. Birds made their nests in those trees, and their songs, more beautiful than any written by a human could be, floated through the meadow like the songs of angels, their notes calming her troubled soul, offering her a rare moment of peace.

A side of the meadow was filled with beautiful, colourful flowers, and sometimes she would run through them, playing and dancing in the flowers, pretending she was innocent of knowledge, not tainted like she truly was.

The meadow was her home, more than that house of horrors could ever be. It was the only place she felt comfortable in, comfortable enough to truly dream of a better life that she knew would never come. But in that world, she was beautiful and loved, untainted. There were people there who loved and wanted her, who valued her for herself, and not the money that could be made out of her body, who didn't view her as a burden or a possession like he did. She wasn't abused there, but safe instead. Her imaginary world was far away from reality and no one could find her there. It was one thing that was her own, the one thin strand of hope she held onto tightly, not wanting it to slip away. She knew far too much of life, more than anyone should know, but her meadow and her mind were her refuge. They gave her hope for the future, the only things that kept her hanging onto life, and preventing her from slipping away and ending it all. It was home.