I don't understand that face. Those are my eyes and nose and ears and smear of a smile, but I do not recognize that face.
I see the face of my sister, round and funny and full of life, all topped with dark brown hair, and her soft dimpled hands are still the same. But who is that stranger girl beside her?
Why is that blonde child sneering? Her face looks forced. That's not my smile. That look was my choice, but it was not my own.
I'm more than a little afraid of the little girl in the yellow pajamas.