There once lived a princess named Malina. She was but eight years old, and had long luscious locks of ebony hair. Her ivory skin was smooth as a porcelain doll’s, and when she smiled, her bright green eyes would twinkle with mischief. One dreary afternoon, Malina decided to explore the castle. She wandered for hours, opening doors and venturing in to find whatever awaited her there. During Malina’s escapades in the attic, she happened upon an old, long, well loved wool winter jacket. It had been her brother Sullivan’s before he had passed away, five years before. Maila had often seen her mother wearing it during the months that followed after Sullivan’s passing, or holding it clutched to her chest, sitting in the massive living room, staring into the fire. Now it lay in the ancient attic, gathering dust and keeping company to old luggage, furniture, and a dressmaker’s dummy. Malina lifted the wool coat off it’s hook and slipped it on. It’s sleeves dangled off her arms, covering her small, soft, hands, and she worked laboriously for a minute, rolling them up. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of Sullivan’s jacket, and was surprised when her left hand came in contact with something small and square. It was a photo of a little boy, perhaps three or four years old. On the back, in cramped, faded writing, was written "Gabriel, age three". Gabriel. Who was Gabriel? Malina was determined to find out.