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The woman was being held in a cage-like prison on an island in the middle of a swamp. It would be hard to imagine a more unpleasant location, what with the noisome smell of the swamp permeating everything. There was the odor of rotting vegetation and decomposing flesh, plus the sickly-sweet aroma of several large flowering plants. As soon as I hit the place, I asked Honeybunch to cut my smell detection to the minimum safe limit. Honeybunch was monitoring my olfactory sensors so that I would not stumble onto something dangerous, and I almost sympathized with her, even though she could do it without experiencing any distress.There was some sort of dampening field in operation that kept the advanced technology at The Center from just snatching the woman to freedom with the transporter. Whatever it was causing the problem, it was necessary for an agent to go in and physically rescue her, and I was volunteered. Naturally, I didn't mind, but it was more fun to bitch about it.I was forced to. Slowly, reverantly, I opened one of the doors. But instead of wintercoats, there were little girl dresses hanging in The Wardrobe. Eventhough they were all too small for me, I still found myself admiringthem and wishing I could try them on.Then the voice came to me. Well, not actually a voice, but a sort of...thought. It was the same thought that had brought me to this warehouse,this crate, and this wardrobe. The thought was saying, I must moveforward. With my heart thumping with both fear and excitement, I movedsome of the dresses aside and climbed in.As I moved through row after row of dresses, I noticed they seemed to begetting bigger. I found it difficult to not stop and admire the dresses,especially when I came across one which I knew, somehow, was mine. Itwas a summery pink eyelet dress with lacy white trim on the hem andshort, poofy sleves, a white peter pan collar and a white satin sashthat was tied in a huge bow in the back. Before I knew it I had gotten out of my grown up.
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