It was around 14 years ago.
My earliest memories weren't of toys or lullabies, but of scripture, stove fires, and the bell that told us when to pray.
There were many like me, orphans, either abandoned or the byproduct of wartime. We chose our path from a young age, either to be a figure of the church, or learn crafts to try and get on our feet when adulthood comes.
I distinctly remember my best friend. He was five or six years older than I, a human with bright blond hair and blue eyes. We'd play together, pray together, wash vegetables, and were inseparable.
One thing I appreciated from him, though. Was that he'd stood up for me when the other kids pulled my tail.
He never stopped talking about justice and defending the weak. Even as kids, we all thought he was kind of weird for that, but he was one of my first friends.
"Jack!" I called out for him from across the kitchen, when he was helping the sisters peel potatoes, "Mother Teresa called for you!"
