Peony had sneaked away from Nanny, as little four years old do. She was determined to meet ashen face girl who would peek from the attic window as Peony jumped over her skipping rope, or swinging high in the tree. So Peony's bravery had swelled in her chest, as she stared up the long steep daunting wooden stairs the dim light from a small grimy window on the closed forbidding door. Not caring that she had her best patent leather shoes on with the lacy frothy socks on. Peony's little chubby hand clasping the banister tightly as she had been taught. Scuffing her black shiny shoes on every dusty step, one, two, three, as she counted her numbers, until finally Peony reached the landing. The dark oak door stood silently glaring at Peony, who eager to abandon her quest ready to be enveloped in the lavender scented embrace of her mother. But no, her eyes were mesmerized by the brass handle, which was age worn. Peony breath held , as she stared at her dirty palms, wiping them down on her red dress, standing on her tippy toes, she reached for the handle...