01

December 1813

Twilight had fallen yet the beauty of the subtle, diffused sky went unnoticed for it revealed the ominous stretch of darkness with its betraying shadows concealing predators of intended violence and misfortune. These blackened streets of London were the foreboding domain for society's most corrupt and bloodthirsty criminals. The inclement weather was as disagreeable as the morbid region. It was the period of decay with a bitter cold that enveloped the body in a frigid shroud, sinking deep to the bone, bringing forth a state of numbness.

A small, distinct shadow cautiously made its way through the desolate streets that would be teeming with life on the morrow. Hovering deep into the ragged overcoat that swallowed the child's tiny frame, beneath it was a tunic consisting of various holes and rips; torn trousers that barely provided any warmth against the arctic bite of winter.

Ginelle Hayes fled to the shadows, seeking concealment that would provide obscurity against imposing threats. Her fears heightened, she could smell stale fear in the air and hear the frantic beat of her heart, its rhythm like a persistent drum in her ears. Her body trembled violently, seeking what warmth her dilapidated attire could offer.

She stiffened as a deep rumble surfaced from her empty stomach. She closed her eyes against a sudden wave of vertigo. The thought of a hot meal sent her senses reeling. Her body screamed for nourishment, anything to appease her ravenous hunger and fill that deep hollowness in her belly. The sheer lack of strength rendered her weak and prone to illness. She couldn't remember the last time she had tasted a bountiful meal. It had been nearly a sennight since she had escaped Pierino, her supposed guardian.

Continuously, his burly fists and unstable temperament had reminded her of her unworthiness. Her body still bore the marks of his rage and drunkenness as she unknowingly pressed a small hand against the bruise that darkened the underside of her jaw. She resisted tears as she slipped into a dark alley, her boots moving swiftly over the roughened, damp cobblestone slick with ice.

She settled into a dark corner, sinking to the ground in defeat as she was overcome with tears and a heart-wrenching sorrow.

She was an impoverished child; alone in a dark and merciful world with no one to love or be loved. She was forced to live on the bleak and forsaken streets of London. She felt a swift tightening in her chest at the memory of her father, her dear sweet father; a blacksmith who had worked tirelessly into the night. Her hands reached to the silver locket around her neck and gripped the chain with shaky fingers. The locket had belonged to her mother, who had died while giving birth to her only child.

Ginelle curled into a ball as a horrific image emerged. She had found her father collapsed on the floor, clutching at his chest as though his stiffened fingers sought his pained heart. She had been too little to fathom the horror of the situation and the depth of her father's agony and grief of losing his beloved that it eventually led to taking his own life. How could she have not known the weight of his sorrow? How could she have not noticed the signs of his pain, pain so severe that he would end his own life and abandon her, his only child? Had he not loved her enough to live life with her? The grotesque image would forever plague her mind; taint her dreams.

She had no family that her father ever spoke of; it had always been just the two of them. The day after her father's death, she found herself on the streets and straight into the hands of Pierino Basilotta. At her fragile state and age she welcomed anyone who was willing to cradle her, protect her from harms way and at the time, he appeared to be a genuine man quite concerned for her. Pierino was her means of security for the impending void of loneliness was ever present.

The years to follow would only bring more pain and sorrow, expanding the black void of isolation and fear. She knew with each passing year brought on unraveling horrors. Her guardian praised his chivalrous act in taking in an orphaned child and claimed a debt was to be paid for his valiant deed. Therefore, she was forced to pick-pocket and provide what little income she could for her 'charitable guardian' and whenever he disapproved of her findings, she faced the brunt of his anger and the blow of his fist. Food was given based on obedience and many nights she curled onto her pallet, listening to the deep rumble of her empty stomach.

It wasn't until she reached fourteen summers that Pierino approached her, claiming she had poor techniques for thievery and therefore must provide another method of payment. A fear unlike any other settled in the pit of her stomach as he described in explicit detail of another way of getting coin from the adequate rank of society.

"Just a bit o'polishin' yer look-" he paused as he reached across the table to touch her face and she reared back, immediately regretting the impulse as his black eyes narrowed to slits of fury. "Ye best be gettin' use to a man touchin' ye." He growled venomously.

That night she fled. She would not fall prey to his malicious intentions and violent outbursts any longer. She welcomed the dark, empty streets to that small corner with a pallet conjured of hay. She would not become accustomed to men for they were vile creatures who lusted for coin and women. Her instincts warned her that Pierino would not give her up so easily for he had announced many times that she was his 'prized possession'. She never truly understood the meaning behind his words but knew that what he had in mind for her was intolerable, causing her stomach to churn at the mere thought of it.

As she sank deeper into the corner of her newfound pallet, she closed her eyes and gripped her mother's locket, seeking sleep. Sleep eluded her for in the past sennight, a new fear surfaced; darkness. She trembled as she sank deeper into her coat, her eyes darting warily around the alley in fear of large, bruising hands to snake out and grab her.

The first break of dawn was a remedy as ripples of sunlight cast over the boisterous streets of London. Ginelle surfaced from the alley, pulling the edges of a brown linen cap down around her face to conceal the tedious strands of flaxen hair and the unusual large eyes that attracted unwanted attention. She studied the array of London's inhabitants that included those of peasantry to those equipped in the latest customs that tossed coin carelessly to merchants alongside the cobblestone street.

She pressed a small hand as her stomach groaned, protesting against that hollow emptiness. Ginelle surveyed a nearby vendor with an exuberance of fresh fruits and vegetables. Her mouth watered instantaneously as she imagined the sweet juices along her tongue as she savored a bite of an apple or pear.

The vendor was a short man with a protruding belly and a distinct, crooked nose and a disarrayed mane of thin, copper hair. He appeared to be a man not to be trifled with. She had stalked similar streets to this one and was familiar with the vast center of marketing. London was known for its dainty shops, supplying heaps of rich fabric and lavish materials that only those of comfortable wealth could afford. She imagined what it would be like to enjoy the simple pleasures that London had to offer with its lush gardens and magnificent spectacles that beckoned bystanders to mingle.

Ginelle's eyes focused on a fresh, red apple, jarring her from her thoughts. She slipped effortlessly through the cluster of patrons; a skill she acquired from pick-pocketing, her fingers twitched with anticipation in the pockets of her woolen coat as she approached the cart.

She cast a wary glance in the vendor's direction just as he turned and caught sight of her extended hand reaching for a fruit. His pudgy face turned red with rage as he spun widely about and seized her wrist with grueling fingers. She squealed in alarm, stunned that she had been caught as he jerked her forward and she dropped the apple in a sudden panic.

"Ye petty pilferer!" her eyes widened as his grip tightened around the bone of her wrist, forcing a whimper from her throat. "Ye will not cheat me!" she watched in profound horror as he reached within the folds of his withered vest and withdrew a dirk with a sharp intended blade.

She felt a flood of terror wash over her as the sun glinted off the acute blade poised above her wrist entangled in the vendor's iron-grasp.