"Begin protocol MSQ-RDR, Subject 000. Date: Monday, 15th of October 2012, Time: 8:30 am. Tell me the story of how you failed."

*

Repeated bangs on a metal door rip Amy from her nightmare. She sits up and nearly falls face-first into the rug as she fumbles for a light switch. White fluorescent lights flicker on and tells her that she is safe. She is still in the sanctuary of her room with all its little comforts, there isn't someone chasing her down a dark labyrinth and there aren't voices whispering in her ear to run for her life. There's a bit more force from the banging on her door when it comes again.

"Come in!" She knows there could only, and she loved and trusted this person with her life. He had kept her safe, after all.

A series of clicks and snaps came from the door before it creaks open to reveal a tall, old middle-aged man with his hands behind his back. He has a gleeful smile spread across his thin pink lips, peeking out from a mound of white fluffy hair. From those smiling lips he begins to sing a cheery, off-key tune.

"Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday to you, Happy birthday sweet Amanda, Happy birthday to you!"

Amy giggles and claps her hands as the man sings. He pulls one of his hands from his back to reveal a plate with a slice of pink cake covered in pink frosting. She grabs the plate. A finger from her normal hand scoops up a dollop of frosting and her tongue darts out to taste it. She makes a hum of approval around her finger.

"Strawberry! My favourite."

"Eat up!"

Amy shovels forkful after forkful of cake into her mouth as fast as her hand can move. She tries to savour each quick bite as it comes to her, knowing that she couldn't just leave it. Food tends to spoil ever so quickly in this room. And spoilage is not approved.

"Thank you, Dad." She says as she drops the plate on her table. Her arms wrap around her father and reach for the object behind his back. He pushes her away playfully

"Nice try!" He raises his busy hand into the air, the box in it almost scrapping against the dark ceiling

"What's the point? You're giving it to me anyway!"

"I need to give it to you, first, silly."

Only after Amy drops her hands in defeat does he hand her the gift. It has a soft red lace wrapped around it. Amy traces along with it with her right hand. It stings, almost the same way lace would have for her sensitive left hand.

"Go on, open it!"

When Amy unfurls the pink lace ribbon and flings the box lid off, she sees a doll lying in it. She has on a frilly red dress, the kind that queens were always wearing in Amy's storybooks. Her red lips are curled into a small, lifeless smile, her glassy blue eyes are staring coldly at Amy, her ceramic hands are across its chest as if it held something secret inside its hollow chest. Her face is framed by a fiery red mass of gorgeous curly hair

"What do you think of her? Isn't it beautiful?"

"She's...different."

It was not a strange thing for her father to give her a doll as a gift. He had given her a few before, sometimes she got one because it was her birthday, sometimes it was because she did a great job with her homework, sometimes she was given one for no reason. There was Charlie who lay on top of her bedspread on the floor, her flurry of motion knocking her out of bed. Macy and Roger were perched on her bookshelf, watching the door and keeping guard against monsters. Leo the lion had gotten stuck under the bed again, the sneaky little troublemaker probably trying to hide one of Amy's books. Jason is in her drawer for a bit, resting from yesterday's activities.

But the one that lay surrounded by soft white cloth is very different. For one thing, Amy had never been given a doll that wasn't made of cloth. Charlie is a yarn rag girl with pink buttons for eyes. Macy and Roger were twins birthed from a few of Amy's old dresses hacked together with needle and thread. Leo is a cotton lion made from push pin while Jason is made from woven sackcloth. This one was made solid and brittle, a delicate stranger.

She also felt different. Not just in terms of texture. When Amy touched the doll's exposed arm, she felt the smoothness of her white china skin and... something else. The best way to describe it would be to compare it to the feeling one would get if they left a friend behind in a crowded area but couldn't quite remember the friend's name, or hair or looks at all.

Even as she looks at the doll's face, she gets the feeling that she might know her. She could have sworn she had seen its features somewhere, but her mind comes up blank when she tries to run a match.

"Where did you get her from?"

"Well, I made her! She's going to be your new friend!"

Something is very off about this. Her father never showed any form of skill with ceramics. There was a voice in the back of her mind that screams "danger". But at the sound of "new friend", Amy wills the voice to silence. It had been a lonely decade in her little room. She always welcomed more dolls to her collection.

Ever since Amy was born, any form of sunlight hurt her skin. She would complain of being hot, even on the coldest of winter nights with walls of snow forming on the hills and the moon but a dim sphere in the dark sky. At first, doctors thought she just had a form of rare dermatitis, whereby her skin was a bit sensitive. Her father didn't press much more on the matter, hoping that they were okay

Then, when Amy was 3 years old while playing in the fields with some of her classmates, she felt like every inch of her skin was ablaze. It looked it too, her fair brown skin burning into a charcoal black. Her teacher and classmates were in an absolute panic as she writhed and shouted in pain. Someone, Amy couldn't remember who amidst the pain, blood and heat, was able to cover her in a fireproof blanket and take her to the hospital. She was alive, but the damage was done; the skin on the right side of Amy's face and scalp, her left arm, her back and both her legs had been burned to the point of nonrecognition. The muscles and bones beneath were intact and functional, but the skin above would heal into a dark clotted and bumpy mass that responded painfully to the lightest of contact.

After that incident, her dad used cement blocks to seal the windows in her room and the rooms upstairs off, painted the walls and ceiling dark, replaced her pink wooden door with a heavy steel one. She doesn't go to school anymore, doesn't have friends anymore, doesn't go outside anymore. Too risky, her father would say when she begged. He said he couldn't bear to lose her to the light and had to keep her hidden to keep her safe.

"Oh, Dad, I had the nightmare again."

"The one where you're chased?" She nods her head slowly.

"I'm really scared about it."

"Oh, my dear, don't worry. I'd never let anything happen to you" He places a hand in her hair and pats her, a comforting gesture for Amy. She leans into his hand, enjoying the feel of it through her thick, tight curls.

"Oh dear," Her father's worried voice snaps Amy from her happy moment. She watches him as he reads his pocket watch.

"What is it?"

"Time has gone, eh? I must get going! I don't want to be late for my lecture!"

"Oh alright." It always fills Amy's heart with heavy hurt when her dad must leave for work in the morning. She wishes he could keep him locked up in her room with her and she could play with him. But he had important things to teach about Mathematics at the University.

But as her father kisses her dark head, she finds comfort in the fact that her father has never left her longer than a week. He spends time with her each time

He always came back for his precious doll.

The heavy door closes quietly Amy carries her new friend from her box and studies her. She unfolds her little arms and sets her gently on her

"You're an interesting one. I think I'll name you...Phoenix." Amy doesn't know why she chose that name. It's not It was the name on her mind. Perhaps it is because she's been reading about mythology these days and the story of the Phoenix was alluring. The doll looked like she was engulfed in fire. Maybe she was just a reminder of her burning, how she rose from the fire that fateful day.

She turns around and heads to her bathroom to freshen up. Maybe a cold shower will help her keep her mind off that odd feeling.