Chapter One: The Day It Started. The morning the world changed for Faith was so beautiful it felt almost cruel, as if the sky was taunting her with its perfect blue. Sunlight poured through the windows of St. Mary’s Orphanage, painting gold on the floors and baking the mountain air into something crisp and sharp. If you looked closely, you might have seen Faith sitting on the edge of her bunk, legs swinging, fingers absently tracing the pattern of the worn quilt. She was a slip of a girl, ten years old but already carrying the kind of weariness that makes you think of old souls and haunted houses.Her hair was a tangle of golden curls, wild and unbrushed. Her skin, the color of caramel, shimmered in the light. But it was her eyes—blue-green and deep as a mountain lake—that drew you in. They sparkled when she smiled, which wasn’t often these days. If you stared into them, you could get lost. They saw more than they let on.Faith had lived her whole life on the edge: the edge of the mountain, the edge of the world, the edge of being wanted. Her mother, a ghost with needle scars and shaking hands, had vanished before Faith could even remember her face. An absent father who was gone before Faith was even born. The state had scooped Faith up, filed her away, and delivered her to the nuns like a package marked “fragile.” The orphanage was all she’d ever known—a place of stone walls, cold floors, and rules that felt like they’d been carved in bone.She had her ways of surviving. She found beauty in small things: the way the wind sounded at night, the stubborn roses in the garden, the secret notes she scribbled in her battered journal. Faith made it her mission to find light in every shadow. Or at least, she tried. But there was one shadow she couldn’t shake: Carrie. Carrie was everything Faith wasn’t. Tall, pale as milk, with hair like a midnight curtain and a smile that looked like it had been stitched onto her face by someone who didn’t understand happiness. Carrie was a storm in a girl’s body, and she followed Faith everywhere—like a curse, like a second skin.“No one wants you, you little freak,” Carrie would hiss, voice thick with venom. “You’re nothing but a junkie’s mistake.”It was relentless. In the showers, in the lunchroom, even in the garden where Faith tried to hide, Carrie was always there, whispering poison. Faith learned to walk with her head down, to keep her mouth shut, never to let them see her cry.But that morning, Mother Angie—a nun with hair so black it shimmered blue, and eyes that missed nothing—called the girls outside for lessons under the old maple tree. Faith shuffled into line, just behind Carrie, who yanked her ponytail hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Faith bit her lip and didn’t make a sound.Outside, the air was thick with the scent of earth and growing things. Faith slipped away from the others and found her favorite spot beneath the tree, where the roots curled like old fingers, and the sunlight danced on the petals of the roses. She pulled out her journal and began to write, pouring out everything she couldn’t say aloud.That’s when she heard a voice—soft, almost musical.“Hello, Faith.”She looked up, startled. A girl was standing in the dappled sunlight, with golden curls that shone like a halo and eyes that matched Faith’s own, blue-green and unreadable. Her skin was the same warm shade as Faith’s, and her smile was gentle, almost apologetic.“Hi,” Faith said, uncertain.“My name’s Sarah,” the girl replied, sitting down beside her without waiting for an invitation.Faith blinked. She’d never seen this girl before, and yet there was something achingly familiar about her. “Are you new?” she asked.Sarah shrugged. “Sort of. I don’t come out much.”They sat together, watching the butterflies flit from blossom to blossom, talking about nothing and everything. For a while, Faith forgot about Carrie and the orphanage and the weight pressing on her chest. She felt almost happy.When Mother Angie called the girls back inside, Faith turned to say goodbye to Sarah—but she was already gone, vanished like a dream at sunrise. Faith became alittle confused.Inside, the lunchroom was chaos. Trays clattered, voices bounced off the walls. Faith sat alone at a table in the corner, tracing circles in her mashed potatoes. She barely heard Carrie’s taunts—until a glob of food smacked her in the back of the head.“Faith, you’re so ugly!” Carrie crowed.Faith gripped her fork until her knuckles whitened. She told herself to breathe, to stay calm. But then she heard another voice—Sarah’s, soft but urgent. Sarah was back again.“Get up. Make her stop.” Faith blinked. Sarah was sitting across from her, eyes burning with something fierce and wild.“Go on, Faith. Don’t let her win.”Faith stood up so fast her chair toppled over. She marched across the room to Carrie, grabbed her by the hair, and slammed her face into the table. For a split second, she felt powerful—unstoppable. Like something took over her little body.Then Mother Angie was there, pulling her away, her voice sharp with disappointment. Faith was being dragged to Father David’s office.Father David was a wraith of a man, pale and sunken, with eyes that seemed to see straight through you. He listened to Mother Angie’s report in silence, then turned to Faith.“Is this true, child?”Faith stared at the floor, thinking of Sarah, wondering if she’d ever see her again.Father David sighed—a sound like dry leaves. “We don’t tolerate violence here, Faith. You must be punished.”He reached for the paddle. Faith didn’t flinch as he struck her, not once. She refused to give him the satisfaction.Afterward, Mother Angie led her to the basement—a place of shadows and old fears. She locked Faith in a cage and left her alone with the darkness.But she wasn’t alone for long.Sarah appeared, as real as sunlight, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor.“We’re going to be okay,” Sarah whispered.And for the first time in a long time, Faith almost believed it.Days passed. Faith lost track of time, lost track of herself. Sometimes she heard voices upstairs—sometimes she heard Sarah singing softly in the dark. She watched the sliver of light beneath the door and waited.One morning, Mother Angie came to let her out.“Time to come out, Faith.”As the cage door swung open, Faith saw her chance. She shoved past Mother Angie, burst through the basement doors, and ran—ran until her lungs burned and the world blurred around her. She didn’t look back.She was free.But even as she stumbled down the mountain, feet bleeding and heart pounding, she heard Sarah’s voice, steady and sure, guiding her forward into the unknown. She sat on the mountain top laying back in the tall grass, staring at the sky. A deep sigh of relief filled her little body.