She hadn't slept longer before voices awoke her, panicked ones hissing quietly to each other in distressed and accusatory overtones. She couldn't understand what was being said and at first attributed it to the fact that the voices' owners were so quiet in the first place. It was only when the harsh whispering turned into stifled yells before returning back to their original volume that she discovered this was not the case.

The people were speaking in an entirely different language.

"She... missing… didn't know…"

"He's angry…"

"How… happen? Did… someone… her?"

"But who? She… secret… ten years!"

"Time… yakuza… anything…"

A headache started to make its presence known more prominently, distracting her from the impossibility that was occurring. The woman-child slunk away deeper into the garden she had taken refuge in, careful not to move to obviously and announce her existence in the foliage, hidden from view quite thoroughly by the hydrangea bushes. The bushes mainly stuck to blues and dark purples, but there were a few that blended into something in between, an almost hypnotizing indigo. The bushes absolutely towered over her and she wouldn't be surprised if she would end up hopeless lost in the garden because of this.

Eventually, she ran into a wall and, after some deliberation, followed it further away from where the voices and the room had been. At some point, a door appeared along the wall she was following. It was small, likely only a service door that wasn't meant for everyday use.

Half-expecting it to be firmly locked, she pushed down on the latch. The door opened. She half-stumbled, half-fell onto the other side; the door closing automatically behind her and clicking to signify that it had locked. There was no going back.

She was hidden by more bushes, these ones the more regular non-decorative sort. Exhaustion weighed heavily upon her, but now more than ever, it was integral that she kept going. She would keep going. It was the only thing she could do.