She looked out of the window as the train pulled into the station. It was deserted. There was no platform to speak of. The ground was sandy and the walls were a simple red brick that was pock-marked and scarred. Adorning the full length of the platform, from floor to ceiling, were portraits of people with haunted, sad, anguished, pained and terrified expressions. There were hundreds of them, hanging in everything from simple wooden frames to lavish, thick gold decorated frames that looked heavy and oversized for the pictures they contained. Dotted periodically amongst the paintings, the occasional frame had been turned to face the wall. She lifted a cushion to her face and shrunk back into her seat.