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The door finally creaks open, revealing the dismal interior of the shack. It contains a simple firepit in the center, and a table that seems as if it is about to break. A hammock is strung from the walls, a sandbag and burlap sack serving as pillow and sheet. The man at the door is old, his face a weatherbeaten tan, his eyes a dull gray. His wispy white hair grows in patches, sticking out in all directions. His wrinkled face contorts into a grimace. “I already paid my taxes,” he croaks, his voice a crackling growl.

The woman shakes her head, her piercing green eye glazing over with a tear. She extends her hand, resting it on the old man’s shoulder. His eyes suddenly open wide in surprise. “Sutra! I’m sorry I couldn’t recognize you!” He smiles, pulling her into a warm embrace. She returns it half-heartedly, a tear trickling out of her eye and soaking into the fabric of her mask. He does not notice her tear, beaming at her. “Come in, come in! Tell me all about your trip, I’d been waiting forever to hear your beautiful voice!” he jokes, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he leads her in, sitting by her on the hammock. He looks at her quizzically. “Sutra?”

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She sighs again. She pulls off the mask slowly, revealing a brutal scar that gouges from her left ear across where her mouth should be. The skin around the gash is a ghastly gray, pockmarked by boils and burns. All of the skin where her mouoth should be is gone, revealing why he had not heard her ‘beautiful voice’.

His mouth falls open in surprise. “My baby… What… What did they do to you?” he stammers, concern creasing his worn face. She buries her face in her hands, choking back tears. He rubs her back slowly, trying to comfort her. “Sutra, daughter, what’s happened?” She sniffles quietly, wiping her eyes.

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