She ran away . As far away as the gentle scratching of her pencil could take her. Trapped in the cage she had been born into, the only escape to be had was provided by that thin piece of wood.

Slowly she worked. A thought here, a wish there. She etched them all out with a slight, thoughtful, pause between each carving.

Scratch, pause, scratch, pause.

Hours than days flew by with each stroke of her pencil.

Days turned to months, and months years. All those loathsome years. Years she had been ensnared, confined, suppressed. Centuries seemed to lag on and on.

Suddenly, her hand ceased to move. Despite her efforts, there was nothing more that she could write. So she set her pencil down, calmly stood up, and left her cage without a backwards glance.

In her wake lay the root of all her thoughts and troubles. Lost in the world she had recreated.

And just as the girls dreams had flowed so easily through her carefully sketched words, so did her captors’ power over her.