Long ago the room was a child’s space. A crib sat to one side, the wood had pale yellow paint reminiscent of a blooming daffodil. It had begun to chip, yet she could almost imagine the stifled cries that had come from behind its bars. On the floorboards, a petite slipper rested, shimmering in bronze. So tiny were the feet of the creature that once lived here; miniatures of a human in body, but in mind they seemed to amplify the emotions as if giants. The love babies had, the passions of joy, anger and sorrow. Unconfined, restricted only by their infantile inabilities. The tiny boots
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