"Child abuse casts a shadow the length of a lifetime."

  Herbert Ward, Sculptor

  Milly huddled in her closet, knees tucked to her chest, hidden beneath musty raincoats that lay strewn across the floor. She shivered despite the heat as she listened to the growing bellows of her foster father reverberating up the stairs. He was deep in the bottle, and it was only a matter of time before he came for her.

  He always came for her on nights like this.

  “I can’t take it anymore,” Milly cried softly as anxiety tightened its grip on her while she waited for his telltale footsteps on the creaky stairwell. She looked at her arms, covered in bruises he'd given her yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that. She was only fourteen, but she felt dead inside, fear the only emotion that flourished in her darkness.

  She had no friends, no real family.

  Nowhere else to go, and trapped inside a nightmare.

  Her eyes flickered to the paring knife she had taken from the kitchen. It wouldn't help against her foster father - she'd tried to fight back against the behemoth of a man last time - but he'd simply laughed and ripped it out of her hands. He'd given it back after he was finished with her, as if daring her to try again.

  She would not try again. She kept it for a different reason.

  It was her final escape.

  The stairwell creaked. Milly could hear his drunken mumbles as he stumbled up the stairs, headed for her room.

  She started to hyperventilate. She grasped the knife in her hand, but she was shaking so much that it fell between her fingers. She winced as it clattered against the hardwood floor.

  “Milly, where are you, ungrateful girl?” her foster father slurred, taking his time as he climbed the stairs.

  It was part of his game - building her fear until she could hardly breathe, so she would be too scared to resist.

  “We bring you into our house. Feed you. Clothe you. You should at least be good for something.”

  Please, I can’t live through it again. I want out. I want out!

  Milly felt for the knife in the darkness. Her breathing intensified, her chest ached, and her tears caught on the rims of her glasses before they fell to the floor.

  Wait…glasses? I don't wear glasses.

  Yet there they sat, resting on the bridge of her nose and far too big to fit her tiny, malnourished face.

  She removed them and traced her finger around the circular frames. They felt... familiar.

  Her foster father reached the top staircase, and rhythmically knocked his beer bottle against the wall so she could hear how close he was.

  “No reason to be scared, Milly,” he slurred. "If you're good, perhaps I'll be gentle tonight."

  Her hands fell on the paring knife, but she couldn't get a grip on it.It kept slipping out of her fingers.

  She could hear him outside her door. Shoving the strange glasses back onto her face, she braced herself for the inevitable.

  A blue screen popped up in front of her, and she covered her mouth to suppress a shocked gasp.

  Milly read the words quickly, fear compounding fear. Her father intentionally rattled her doorknob.

  “Knock knock knock, Milly. Where are you, my girl?”

  Milly’s buried her face further beneath the musty coats, and her gaze fell on a small hatch that led to the crawlspace beneath the house.

  Another blue screen appeared.

  Milly had no idea what any of that meant, but she didn't hesitate.

  “Yes,” she whispered, as the door to her room cracked open and her foster father strode inside.

  Mily threw aside the coats and scurried over to the hatch, her heart beating wildly.

  Her father grabbed the handle of the closet, and began to open it.

  “Milly, I told you what I'd do to you if you ever hid from me again. I’ll teach you what it means to disobey me,” he said, a vile promise laced in every word.

  With a final, desperate pull, the hatch opened.

  It was not the crawlspace beneath. Fractured light, like the screen of a broken television, spilled from the hatch and obscured what lay beneath.

  "There you are, girl!"

  The closet door swung open and her foster father’s drunken hands reaching for her.

  Milly pulled herself through the hatch as he reached for her foot, and left behind her sock clutched in his violent grip.

  * * *

  Milly landed in a large chamber, its walls covered with hundreds of computer monitors and complex control panels. The walls were industrial steel, and large fans circulated air and filled the space with a gentle hum.

  She was back in her Gown of Moon and Stars - back in her adult body - though the memory of that night still rested at the forefront of her mind, as if she had just woken from a dream.

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  It had been the worst of nights - the night that pushed her over the edge, and started a cascade of hardship that would come to define her life. The emotional wounds felt raw, and she stroked the long-healed scars across her wrists, a constant reminder of her attempt to end it all that night.

  “Be brave, Milly,” she whispered as she took a deep breath to calm herself. “Find a way out of here.”

  She began to explore the chamber, each step echoing off the bare metal walls.

  The computer monitors displayed different people and places around the Castle of Glass and the wilderness. She saw Elmer sitting on the beach, watching the boars slowly cook on their spits, as he chatted with a young Chinese woman next to him.

  Another monitor was tuned to the Legal Eagles' boardroom, where the four CEOs argued around a mahogany table. Ms. Cook was engaged in a heated exchange with the other three, her hand slamming down on the table for emphasis. Stone's smirk made Milly want to reach through the screen and punch him in the face.

  There were monitors showing the hunter teams, the gatherers, those in the tower and those exploring the wilds. Milly gasped as one displayed three men battling a pack of goblins on the prairies, a fourth man lying on the ground from a wound to his chest.

  Interspersed between the active monitors were fifty-two that had simply gone black. One for each of their dead.

  The whole of the contest must be displayed on these monitors. Where am I?

  The rhythmic clacking of fingers across a keyboard drew her attention to a smaller room at the other end of the chamber. Milly stepped lightly and peeked inside.

  A small girl, about four years old, stood on a chair far too tall for her. Her hair was shoulder-length and curly and shimmered with the purest white. She looked tired but fierce, despite the adorable unicorn and rainbow pajamas she wore. She had to kneel on the edge of the panel to reach the controls at the back, her eyes set with a child’s stubbornness.

  She glared at four monitors. One displayed a bank, and another a hospital. Two were only static.

  “Tutoria, did you find anything?” the girl asked, her voice high-pitched and adorable.

  Tutoria materialized in the room with a pop. Milly pressed he back along the wall, hoping her heavy breaths would not draw attention.

  “We found one of them, Director Cutie Pie,” Tutoria said, ignoring the indigent scowl from the child. “Xavier just finished his scenario. But we don't know what happened after he killed his father. The monitors disconnected before the manifestation showed.”

  The little girl huffed her displeasure.

  “But we have eyes on his again,” Tutoria continued. “Xavier's headed for the reward chamber now. He's not waiting for his companions to finish.”

  There was a clacking of keys, and the third screen lit up. Milly poked her head around and saw Xavier walk down a narrow corridor and emerge in a forest clearing, where four chests rested on pedestals.

  “And the other one?” the Director asked.

  “We haven't found participant Milly Brown yet, Director. Her feed was severed after she put on her glasses. If you think the gods were angry about losing Xavier's feed, they are absolutely furious about Milly. She’s becoming a fan favorite, you know.”

  Milly gasped, then covered her mouth. There was silence from the room, and Milly stood absolutely still, holding her breath.

  “Those increasingly mad gods do not worry me, Tutoria,” the child declared, breaking the silence. “The Contest is entertainment for them, nothing more. We carry its higher purpose on our shoulders.”

  “But Director…,” Tutoria protested.

  “I am sure she will show up eventually. You can go now.”

  “Ok, but don't stay up late again, Cutie Pie. Even AI Directors need their rest. You are a growing young girl, after all,” Tutoria nagged. She vanished just as the girl hurled her cup of apple juice where Tutoria had been standing.

  The room was engulfed in silence. The cup of apple juice rolled along the floor until it came to a rest at the doorway near Milly’s feet. It was bright pink, and there was a cartoon depiction of the ogre Milly had fought on its side. It had a toddler's sippy cup lid, so the juice had not spilled out.

  “You can come out now, Milly. I know you are there,” came the child’s confident call.

  Milly took a deep breath to calm her nerves and stepped into the chamber.

  “Umm… hello,” Milly said meekly, torn between curiosity and outright terror.

  The child looked at Milly with a curious expression.

  “You are not supposed to be here. You should leave,” she said, yet something in her tone made Milly believe the child wanted her to stay. She seemed… lonely.

  “I…don’t know where I am. Or how to get out,” Milly answered.

  If not for the Director's white hair and intelligence purple eyes, she looked like she should be in preschool. Though she knew the power of the child, her fear receded, as if unable to sustain itself off the image of the adorable little girl.

  The child held onto the console with her little hands and tried to swing herself off the chair. It was not going well. Her legs were too far off the ground.

  Eventually, she gave an exasperated sigh and lifted her arms up into the air.

  “Down,” the child insisted, hands outstretched towards Milly.

  Milly walked tentatively over to the Director, trying to make sense of it all. She picked the child up and gently set her on the ground.

  The child smoothed her unicorn pajamas with her palms. “Thank you,” she said appreciatively. “Now, how did you get here, player Milly? This is my control centre. No player should have access to this place.”

  “I…I don’t really know,” admitted Milly. She had been reliving the worst night of her life only moments ago, and now she was talking to a surprisingly well-spoken four-year-old girl in the heart of the contest. “I was… my foster father…”

  Even trying to say it aloud brought back her nightmares.

  “My spectacles opened something called a backdoor. Then I fell into this room,” she quickly finished.

  It felt like an inadequate description, but the child nodded. She reached her hands up to Milly, “Glasses, please.”

  “But…”

  The girl stared at her expectedly, and Milly reluctantly removed her glasses and handed them over. She felt naked without them, the room around her now blurry after she'd grown used to the corrective lenses. Yet Milly did not think to say no to the girl - you don't say no to little girls who wanted to try on your glasses.

  The child turned the glasses over in her hands, inspecting them from every angle. She put them on, and Milly gave an involuntary giggle at the sight of this small child wearing the massive frames, which reached half way up her forehead.

  “These are Mother’s glasses,” the child concluded, handing them back up to Milly. “Her real glasses, not a copy created for the contest. If you have her glasses, it is because she meant for you to have them. Meant for you to find those backdoors.”

  “Your… mother?” asked Milly, starting to piece it together. “Oracle is your mother?”

  “As close to a mother as someone like me can have, I guess,” the child confirmed, sounding forlorn. “I never met her, but I can feel her touch in everything I do. I think that would make her my mother, don’t you think?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Milly admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt a mother’s touch.”

  “No, I guess you haven't,” said the child sympathetically.

  “You…you are the Artificial Intelligence system that Oracle and Hephaestus designed,” Milly said, remembering the vision on the beach. “The one responsible for running The God Contest.”

  The girl curtsied. “That’s me!” she said, half-heartedly. “Though it's more accurate to say I am adapting the contest as it plays out. The major notes are planned - I fill in the blanks.”

  Milly had a million questions running through her mind.

  Why were they in the contest? What was the point of it all? Could she send them home?

  “Why are you…a child?” Milly asked.

  Really, Milly? Of all the questions to ask, you go with that one?

  The girl huffed and crossed her arms indignantly. “I don’t know. Mom and Dad aren't around to tell me. Except for Tutoria, I have been alone in my sanctuary - this control room - ever since I was born eight days ago.”

  “Eight days ago? On the first day of the Contest?” Milly asked.

  “Yes, Milly, on the first day,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I can't be born before the world is created. I am bound to this world. I am supposed to help guide the contest from within. It's my purpose. Only…”

  The girl trailed off, staring up at the monitors. On the screens, Rain was talking with an elderly woman and a teenaged Calista was arguing with her principal. Xavier had opened one of the chests and was trying to break open a second with a long, jet-black sword.

  “Only what?” Milly prompted. The child’s confidence seemed to have suddenly faded, and Milly saw her wipe her eyes with the sleeve of her unicorn pajamas.

  “Only I don’t think they finished me,” whispered the girl. “I feel… messy… inside.”

  “Well, you are a child,” Milly suggested. “I’m sure lots of children feel that way. It is a big world, and you have so much to learn.”

  “They didn't even have time to give me a name.” the girl countered, looking away from Milly.

  “Your name isn't Director Cutie Pie? I thought Tutoria…”

  “My name is not Director Cutie Pie!” the child shouted angrily. She walked over to the highchair and shoved it, causing it to crash to the ground. She collapsed to her knees, trying and failing to hold in her sobs.

  Milly didn't know how to feel.

  She wanted to be angry. Angry at the girl that controlled the world around them - who was part of ripping them from their lives and thrusting them into a game that had already killed over fifty people.

  She wanted to be afraid. Fear was a simple emotion. This child had power and could probably end her with a few clicks of her keyboard.

  Yet anger and fear were the furthest from her mind. All she could see was a sad little girl crying on the floor, abandoned by her parents. Forced to live alone and grow up way too fast. A child robbed of her childhood.

  All she could see was herself reflected in a tiny mirror.

  Milly walked over to the girl and wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders. She rocked the girl slowly as she held her tight while the child cried. She could see the exhaustion on her face - a child faced with an impossible task she wasn't prepared for.

  The AI Director - this little girl - was in the same situation they were. Trapped in a game, with the weight of the world on her shoulders.

  Milly held her close, and, at that moment, wanted nothing more than to provide a comfort she knew she couldn't give.

  But perhaps I can give her something better...