Shoes. Her father had never let her touch the shoes he was cobbling. There were always critiques, "Don't touch little Lissa those aren't for you." "Nails are sharp little Lissa", "Go help your Mother Lissa, these things aren't for children." Now it didn't seem that she could resist them.
She was supposed to go somewhere, she knew that much. The monster's jaws had clamped around her, had gobbled her right up. She knew that it should have hurt, but now she couldn't remember it so much. There had been light then after, so much light and the singing of something wondrous. She had started to follow, and she knew that she should have. She wasn't supposed to stay here, but still she had walked away from it.
For days she had tried calling to her Mother, trying to get her to see her. She had screamed in her face, she had stomped her feet and she had wept like a babe, but nothing could make her mother see her. And so she had come to the workshop instead. If she couldn't play with the shoes in life, she would have her way in her death.
She tried to touch the pretty lady's shoes, recognizing the name on the order as her former headmistress. She was surprised as her hand passed right through them, and as the weeks passed she'd screw up her face in concentration, trying to pick up one of the shoes in vain, her tiny ethereal hand passing through them again and again.
It was morning when she decided that she needed something different to do and she turned to leave the shop, to go watch the lives of one of her friends, when she bumped into one of the shoes. She felt it against her hip, she heard it fall as she turned around, staring at the fallen shoe with amazement.
Swirling about the shoe was a tiny, black tendril. It looked as ghostly as her flesh and as she neared closer to it the thing would pull further away. She giggled and went chasing after it, passing through walls and windows as if they were nothing more than air.