It’s true she thought, it’s all true. Amelia thought it would be gone, because she knew all good things must come to an end. That was her experience, but it did not seem to pertain to this. The flora beneath her feet didn’t wither and the fauna didn’t know to be afraid. The best part was the singing harp and the steady warmth of the sun. An unspeakable joy bubbled up, making her weightless and free. This place was everything she could only imagine. She slipped off one of her worn yellowed gloves, so she could run her hands across all the marvels before her. Amongst the many things was a small herd of deer. They paid no mind to her approaching figure. As Amelia’s hand brushed its coarse coat, it quivered with life under her touch, but continued its grazing.   
A giggle of excitement flew loose as she buried both hands in, marveling at its warmth and its pulse. The deer was startled by her sudden excitement and bounded off towards the grove of trees, its herd following along. They left revealing a bush of plump blackberries, and Amelia's stomach rumbled. Her pale slender fingers reached out and plucked one of the berries; it did not wither within her grasp. She popped it into her mouth and relished the way its flavor exploded across her tongue. She imagined taking a hand full of them and letting their juice run down her chin, and staining her tattered dress. But, she did not, embarrassed by such a vulgar notion.   
After eating her fill, she carried on, unwilling to let anything go untouched and unseen. It began to grow late, the music dwindled to sweet mellow tune, and Amelia savored it like a fine dessert. Out of nowhere, there was an ugly twang and the scene before her took on a ghastly facade. She let out a small shriek, horrified by the change. But in the blink of an eye, it changed back and the music carried on.  
Amelia squeezed her eyes tightly and rubbed them hard, before opening them again. Her sanctuary was still there. She mused wearily that she was just tired and decided to rest her eyes. So, she wandered into the shade and let the music lull her to sleep.  
As she slept, the music twisted into a low garbled hiss and the world beneath her shook. She woke from her slumber and let out a startled cry as cracks ran though the ground. Shadows seeped from her body tying her down as the rest of them choked out the light. The stench of decay soon pervaded the air.  
“No. No. No.” she pleaded struggling to get away. But it was all in vain. The shadows devoured it all with relish. Letting the juices of what once was drip down their chin.  
“All good things must come to an end.” the wind whispered as farewell.  
“Get up, you foolish girl!” a sharp voice hissed as a pair of bruising hands shook her like a rag doll, jerking Amelia from the dream turned night terror. Only after the shaking stopped did she realize where she was. She was back at the institute. She could hear the muffled sobbing, and the angry screams. The others powers made her skin itchy and tight with discomfort. The dilapidated wood dug into the soles of her feet, as the cold consumed her body, the only warmth was from the hands holding her, careful not to touch her bare skin.  
“Look at what you’ve done! Look at it!” the figure holding her commanded. Amelia looked down, her pulse throbbing loudly in her ears, unlike Mrs. Garth’s, the caretaker. Mrs. Garth lay in a heap on the floor, her face turned upwards so that her emerald green eyes bore into the ceiling dull and glazed. Amelia knew if she were to touch Mrs. Garth with her bare hands her skin would be as cold and as hard as a gravestone.  
“Now, hurry and fix what you’ve done. There are things to be done!”  
Dread floods her body. That meant more tests, more trials, more time in the chair to see if things will flare back to life, or if they will stop beating her grasp. More people to hurt, more people to hurt her, people just like her. Assets. Lost, and alone, but with malevolent powers. They lie and tell Amelia they’re looking for a cure so she can live out in the bleak and desolate world. But Amelia knows better despite her age, they want to know her potential, her limits for something else. Regardless, the moment Amelia is freed from the bruising grasp she leans down, and puts her hand against Mrs. Garth’s neck where her pulse is supposed to be. In the blink of an eye, a pulse flutters under her fingertips as the warmth of another scalds her hand. Mrs. Garth has rejoined the living once more.