Looking in the mirror, Elle examined herself. In her eyes she could still see the echoes of the corridor of dreams. It did that sometimes, leaving her starry-eyed and odd to look at. It would only last for a bit, though. Sighing, she looked around her room. It was rather rustic, with a creaky old bed with tattered old sheets and a mere candle to light up the room. There was a wardrobe, though it wasn’t much. The wood was as cheap as it came, and it tilted precariously at all times. It was all she could afford. As a mere girl of sixteen, Elle didn’t have many assets. She was on her own.