The small black eyes stood out hard from the smooth, young face. The girl's cheeks were flushed. Her tiny fingers crumbled the hem of her dress, wrinkling and creasing the harsh fabric. Looking at her face, it didn't seem like she was scared. But if someone were to look beyond the pale features, beyond the messy, dirty clumps of hair, deep into the whirlwind of her eyes, they would have seen terror.

The woman reclined on her chair, her back shuffling against the metal frame. Her hair was straight, long and simple. It wasn't style, or fashion, that made all the women of the world to wear their hair this way. It was shame. Shame of forgetting, shame of destruction, shame that could be felt by crumbling stone walls.

She tapped her fingers on the desk, and in the vast, empty room, it sounded eerie. The child shuddered slightly.

"Name?"

The girl shook her head, then winced. Her hands traveled to the injection site between her shoulders, right near her spine. The liquid transcribed her brain to allow her to communicate in simple English, but painlessness was never a priority.

The woman tapped her fingers again, looking straight at the girl. "You don't know your name. Or you're too frightened to speak. Or-" she sighed. "I knew there was a consequence to taking a six-year old. What use is she? She remembers nothing!" Realising she's talking to herself and her erroneous colleagues have long since left, she turned her attention back to the child. "If you don't have a name, girl, we give you one. Young or not, we can't send you back, so you'll have to be useful." The girl looked back at her, not knowing why they are angry with her. Not knowing how she ended up here. She was just walking away from Pompei , then she walked through two trees and suddenly, she was in this room. Her head was throbbing. And she was alone with this woman, who she didn't know.

Allari bit her lip, looking down at the girl. The bare feet on the jet black floor, the soiled dress, the essy head and wild, scared eyes – everything seemed out of place. What to do with her?

"What… what do you remember? Let's give you a name worthy of your origin, better than just calling you 'girl 565.' Her lips curved slightly as if to smile then relaxed, still refusing to show any relief. "Something you remember. From Greece. From Pompei. From home." She ran her fingers through her accurate hair. "Come on…"

As the girl whispered, her raspy, weak voice seemed to fill the entire room, her accent more than evident.

"Ashes."

Allari's face relaxed slightly. "Ashes. " She almost laughed. "Easy enough."

The girl still stood there, watching a tiny bird fly past the window, as the pen in the middle-aged woman's fingers traced, "Ashley."