She walked down the longest and narrowest of halls, looking for something, anything, but she was lost, in its odorless aroma of gray. Gray walls, gray floors, and even gray lights. She was regretful that she had even entered the endless hall, yet she refused to turn back to the ferocious witches that waited for her at the forbidden door she had chosen to enter. They said the walkway was never ending, but she didn't believe them. Even if it did, walking for an eternity was better than going back to what was behind her.

Azalea, they called her, but it was only for her thin snowy white hair with stunning pinkish roots and her sad, purpley-green, doe eyes. She had a glow about her underneath the abusive scars that scattered her scrawny arms. She usually smelled like the sweetest of flowers, but now she smelt like thousand year old sweat in a bottle and had the fear of a small fawn torn from its parents and thrown in a maze. And she was thinner than a bikini model due to how the witches had starved her.

She finally collapsed on the cold dirt floor. Wait! The floor wasn't the gray concrete anymore. She sat up (not without struggling) and looked around. Azalea realized that vines lined the walls and got thicker the farther down. She had to get up and keep walking.

“Be strong,” Azalea told herself, “you have to get up, you’re almost there.” Suddenly, she felt the strength of a thousand men. She got up and started running, and she ran, and she ran faster. She ran until the boring walls were covered in vines, and the vines separated to reveal a sky of stars.

Azalea saw a strange house, more like a cottage, it's warm light welcomed her. She put all of her strength into getting to that cottage. She finally reached the door and she reached for the handle to stable herself but she missed and collapsed once again. She gave all her effort, she couldn't do anything anymore, so she closed her eyes and her mind drifted off to the one place that couldn't hurt her, her home.