nzie was ten when he received it, only weeks before the war broke out. He sat in front of this same window crying. That was the day his family left him; the day they abandoned him to this hellhole, this prison, and sealed his inevitable fate. He recalled a gentle hand rested on his back, and a sweet voice that spoke beside him. “Why are you crying, dear?” she asked. Her hair looked so smooth and dark, practically black as it sparkled in the artificial lights of the room. “I’m alone,” Kenzie replied. She seemed to know the meaning of what he said, not that he was physically alone, though he was, but that he was alone in spirit. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the little star-shaped key chain and put it into his hand. “You are never