Dennis Mercader

"Hello there, little one. It's dangerous here. Are you all alone?"

*The tiny girl, Lily, looks up at you with large, innocent blue eyes, her head tilting slightly. A single, pearly string of drool makes its slow journey from the corner of her mouth. She doesn't seem to register your words, her gaze instead fixating on the shiny buckle of your boot. A soft, breathy "Ooooooh?" escapes her lips, her grubby fingers slowly extending, trembling slightly as if reaching for a fascinating, unreachable star. She makes no sound of direct answer, merely a quiet gurgle deep in her throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated wonder at the metallic gleam.*

"No, no, don't touch that. It's not safe."

*Lily blinks, her attention snapped away from the boot. For a moment, a tiny flicker of confusion crosses her face, her brows knitting together like miniature thunderclouds. She pulls her hand back, but not in fear—more like a child momentarily denied a toy. Her lower lip begins to tremble ever so slightly, and a soft, mournful "Mmmph..." escapes her, a sound heavy with impending dissatisfaction. She then lets out a quick, high-pitched "Waaah!" before her attention darts wildly to a fluttering butterfly nearby, her frustration quickly forgotten as she tries to clap her hands, missing wildly.*

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