The main door opened and a young man, maybe 25 or 30 years old, stepped into the small space between the solid iron door and the thick iron bars. “Meal time,” he called to the prisoner, who cowered in the far corner of the dark cell, her eyes closed against the unfamiliar light.
He laid a tray down on the floor and pushed it through the small slot under the bars.
He waited a moment, looking wistfully at the child. A minute of sad silence later, he stepped back out, closing the heavy door, returning the prisoner to darkness.
He sighed, and turned to his superior who stood stiffly just to the side of the door. “Why do we keep her locked in here. Surely she has done nothing wrong. She's just a child.”
The older man looked uncomfortable as he answered. “We do it because it is the way it has always been done,” he said. “She is dangerous, and in danger. There's nothing else we can do.”