Kitty crawled under the covers, pulling them well over her head. How wonderful it would be if people's thoughts would not get to her so easily! Yet she couldn't help feeling slightly hurt. Later she would likely get over it, but for now, it stung.
It grew hot under the blankets before Kitty managed to fall asleep. The girl poked her head out and stared out the moonlit window, bunching the comforter under her chin. Her fingers absentmindedly brushed over the faint scar of three letters. Death.
It was a wonder she woke up at all, having hardly been able to sleep for several nights now. She sat up and brushed her curled brown hair out of her face, looking towards the bedroom door. She'd left it cracked slightly last night—another strange preference of hers—yet found it closed this morning like she had every other. Not strange, but definetly something she had assumptions about.
And there was a dog. It would be wrong to say she'd forgotten about him, but he hadn't exactly been her waking thought. Kitty pulled on some daytime clothes and went onto the porch to see if Sam was still there.