We weren’t quite sure what to do with her when she first arrived, you see –  it’s not often that little girls, or boys for that matter, end up here. At first, we assumed it was simply a mistake and that someone from head office would pop down to rectify the problem, put her to use somewhere her presence might be a better fit, but the day never came. Around eight years old, I would guess. Bright blue eyes and brown hair kept at chin height. I don’t know her name, or where she works, but there’s a nasty rumour going around that the boss has her separated from the rest of us somewhere. Shut away. And that if any of us under perform, that we might be sent there too. I thought it was a joke until yesterday, when I saw Bart dressed up in fancy dress like a Teddy Bear with his head held low over by the baking ovens. I asked him what he was playing at and he just grunted and pressed a piece of paper into my chest and stormed off. Bloody thing nearly fell into one of the ovens, and would have had I not reacted as quick as I did. But I wish I hadn’t. “You are cordially invited” it read “To Emma’s animal tea party”. Lucy, our boss, had even gone as far as to sign it. The thought of it makes my horns ache.  I’m going to have to pull my finger out during rack duty tonight, none of us were counting on Lucy inventing a new means of making us suffer.