She pulled her red gown high over her head, trying to shield herself from the oncoming terror, but to no avail. The sheer vivid colour of the gown made her stand out from the bustling crowds, no matter how much she tried to huddle into the dank doorway of the closed shop.
"Please let me in," She whispered, scratching desperately on the chipped wooden panelling, "please." Tears started to fall down her cheeks as she heard the heavy footsteps of her pursuers getting closer and closer, the people around her seeming not to notice her distress.

Suddenly the door creaked open, just wide enough to let the little girl slip through before it clanked shut again.
"What is wrong?" The little girl looked up into her mentor's face - her father's face - and felt the burning pain rise from her chest up into her throat.
"They have come." She panted, tears still stinging her cheeks. "They have come."
"Who? Who?" The old man brushed her cheek gently with a finger as realisation hit him, as though he had seen the answers through her eyes.
"I led them here - my gown. It showed them the way." She shrugged the gown from her shoulders, the trecherous piece of coth falling to the floor gracefully.
"It was always meant to." She looked up at the man she had trusted all her life, the one who had taken care of her for so l. The one who had given her that gown so many years ago.