She shouldn't be here.

Maeve had only just arrived in Sacrosanct, coming from a place further away from here where she had been kept as no more than a way to earn income for her foster parents. She had been planning on running away the moment she had arrived. Maeve only had to wait for the right opportunity. The social worker that had brought her to her new home had informed her foster parents that she was a 'runner' and they had been keeping a careful watch on fair haired child. But Maeve liked to think herself smarter than her foster parents and she knew she only had to bid out her time until they let their guard down enough for her to run away. Her heart still races with the thrill of it all, despite having run away from nearly every foster home she was put into, the adrenaline of performing such a task never seemed to be depleted from her.

"You're taking the bus to school tomorrow. We really cant be bothered with driving you ever day and picking you up, we have things to do too, you know," her foster father, Owen, had said to her as they were sitting down to eat dinner. "Okay," Maeve had said quietly as she picked at her spaghetti and slowly began twisting her fork around the long noodles. She attempted to hide her smile and the excitement that flooded through her body like a drug. This was it, the moment she was waiting for. She finished eating, and washed up for bed before telling her foster parents goodnight. "Don' bother waking us up, the bus will be here at 7:15, if you miss it, you're walking," and Maeve figured that was about as close to a goodnight from either of them that she would get so she went inside her home closing the door gently behind her.

In the morning, Maeve wakes up bright and early and performs her morning routine, brushing her hair, her teeth, putting on her school uniform, everything to ensure that if one of her foster parents happened to be awake they would be none the wiser of what she was about to do. She grabs her backpack, adorned with the popular Disney character, Moana, the girl that looked entirely opposite of Maeve's fair complexion and straight, very light blonde hair, and strange, violet eyes, and puts a few pairs of clothes inside it, not taking enough to arouse any suspicion. If everything went according to plan she would have about eight or nine hours in which to get ahead of her foster parents before they alerted the police and her social worker, beginning the witch hunt for the runaway child. She slides her arms through the straps of her backpack and lets it rest comfortably against her body, thinking it ironic as always that they would give her such a backpack when she has never seen Moana, nor has Maeve ever been to the ocean.

That's it!
She would go the ocean. Somewhere she has always wanted to go.

Maeve goes into the kitchen and reaches up to the cabinet to grab herself a bowl. She really wasn't hungry, she never was the days she was going to run, but in case anyone should wake up, it had to appear as any other normal day. In go the Cheerios, and then in goes the milk before she scoops one bite of cereal into her mouth after the next until her bowl is nearly empty. She places the bowl in the sink before grabbing her backpack once more and heading out to the bus stop. The fairy child closes the screen door quietly behind her. Maeve's foster parents didn't live in a suburban area and so the bus wouldn't pick her up right outside her house, which worked out in Maeve's favor. The bus for her school would pick her up right where the bus into the city would make a stop, ten minutes before the school bus. Maeve walks quickly, moving her tiny, skinny legs that were still growing as fast as she could. She could not miss this bus. Maeve arrives early enough that there is only one other child at the bus stop. He wears a pair of slacks the same color as her skirt and a shirt the same color as her own, embodied with crest of their school, she recognizes him from her class. Damage control time. "Hey Andrew," she says, her high soprano voice rolling over the warm morning air. "Hey Maeve," he says, his earthen eyes turning to see her with a smile. Maeve liked Andrew, which says a lot since she didn't enjoy the company of most of the children in her class. Most of them had merely ignored her when she came into the school. Of course, being the new kid they had initially shown great interest, before it fell away as they learned she would not tell them much about her past, why she wasn't being raised by her own parents. But Andrew always sat with her at lunch and invited her to play games at recess. He never asked her questions, and if he did, he never seemed to mind if she didn't give him answers. That was going to make it all that much harder to do what she had to do.

The city bus arrives and Maeve begins to move towards it. "Maeve, this isn't out bus," Andrew says with a humorous smile. Maeve turns bright, amethyst eyes to him, guilt twisting her stomach into a painful knot. "I know," she says casting eyes downwards for a moment before turning to stare into his own of mocha brown. "But you have to let me get on this bus, and you cannot tell anyone you saw me," she says, her little hand reaches out and gently brushes it against his shoulder before turning and getting onto the bus.

The bus driver barely gets out the words that she needs to pay a fair before Maeve tells him she doesn't need to and she walks to the back of the bus and settles herself down into a seat. She slides her Moana backpack off her shoulders and places it on her lap in front of her as violet eyes turn to stare out the window. This bus would take her into the big city, a city with tall buildings, tons of shops and restaurants, and on its South side: a beach. She had only heard talk of this large city from her foster parents, but the name of it sounded interesting enough that a young child would not easily forget.

Sacrosanct.

The bus rides seems as though it is taking ages to reach her destination, stopping to let people off, stopping to allow people to get on. Maeve watches the bus riders come and go, a few strange looks are tossed in her direction, as was to be expected as Maeve certainly was not a typical sight to see on the bus headed into the city at 9am on a weekday morning when most children were in school. It certainly did not help the matter either than Maeve was attired in her school's uniform, making it clear that she was a child coming from a home of some sorts that typically attended school during the day, and not a child that was simply headed into another direction. She can feel eyes burrow into her. They stare at her powder blue and navy pleated skirt, long white socks, and the white shirt with the frilly, powder blue collar adorning it. Her feet are tucked under the seat, where her violet converse (shoes being the only freedom of dress the children were allowed at her school) are hidden from view. She instinctively pats down against her lower pigtails she had put her platinum blonde hair into, making sure her long hair covers her strangely pointed ears as she cast her gaze from the aisle way and out to the window once more.

The bus begins to empty and Maeve feels her pale eyelids growing heavier and heavier until they finally slip, forcing violet eyes into darkness as her face delicately leans against the dirty window. Her body hangs limply in the seat as sleep overtakes her. Eventually, as time passes, Maeve feels eyes upon her and she stirs in her sleep, amethyst eyes flying open to look upon the bus driver underneath long, innocent lashes. "This is the last stop, I'm sorry sweetheart, but you are going to have to exit the bus," he says, Maeve can hear the pity and sincerity of his words, but at least he didn't threaten to call the police. She stands up, pushing her arms through the straps of her backpack once again, but notices the bus driver reaching into his pocket. "Here is some change, in case you need to call your parents, alright?" He says with a smile before placing the money in her small hands and moving aside so the fairy child can exit.

Stepping off the bus was stepping into a new world. Her eyes grow wide at everything around her, but as the bus pulls away Maeve suddenly feels so alone, entirely exposed as she stands in the warehouse district of town. Few people walk passed, though they seem to be less than friendly and Maeve avoids her gaze as she walks down the sidewalk. How was she supposed to find the beach from here? Much less a place that she will be able to sleep for the night. The fairy child continues down the sidewalk, hoping this creepy, and seemingly abandoned area will eventually clear up into perhaps the big, bright city she had heard about, or even into a neighborhood, but the more she walks, the deeper she seems to go into such a place. She feels her tiny heart racing inside her chest, anxiety building in her bones, and adrenaline beginning to flood through her veins. All her instincts were telling her to get out of this place before something bad happens.

And then: BANG!

A cloud crashing sound from unknown source is heard and Maeve's feet are in motion before she even knows what is happening. She runs, runs fast, and runs far, abandoned warehouses brush passed her vision as she races as only a child struck by treacherous fear can. Her backpack flops against her back with every steps she takes, nimble legs reaching in front of her to push off with small, child feet. Maeve only slows when her lungs feel as though she has swallowed fire and her legs seem as if knives were stabbing against her. Panting, she finally comes to a stop, looking over her bony shoulder encased in powder blue and a peter pan collar to ensure that nothing was in fact following her. Violet eyes fall under eyelids for a brief moment in relief before they open to look upon the same warehouse landscape that she felt as if she would forever be encased in. And it is as her amethyst eyes are looking upwards that the pain of sorrow, fear, and loneliness creep over her, smothering the excited fire that had been growing fiercely in the morning hours. It is now only a shoulder of ash as Maeve lowers her beds and sits down upon the curb. Her head with the fair blonde hair falls forward as she buries her head in her hands, shoulders beginning to shake and shudder as tears flow from her eyes, dampening her hands, and eventually the salty liquid slips from her tiny, hands and falls down her arms, only to land in pleated skirt lap. And the child weeps. She cries for fear, for loneliness, for the life she shall never have, and the life she so wishes desperately to know.