Lucille wiped a tear, caused by the chill wind from her eye as she slowly walked through the town streets. The initial haste brought about by her excitement of running away for good had dissipated once she breached the walls of the castle.

She left the way she always did, through the small servant gate in the back of the gardens. But there had been more than the usual flutter in her heart and skip in her step as she fled this time. A sense of wanderlust almost as the uncertainty of her future was now a tangible thing, by running away she was entirely alone, independent of her parents wishes and so too their protection.

Picking at a small roll of bread Lucille nibbled slightly before sprinkling the crumbs to her side. Everything had been done spare of the moment and she left home without her coat or normal cloak and disguise, but she had made sure to grab her walking boots and some bread from the kitchen. Though now as she casually sauntered through the dark streets she wondered if her desire to simply be gone had addled her rational mind. Bread seemed like a sensible thing to run away with, but she wasn’t hungry, and it wasn’t going to keep. Besides, Rancid would have all she needed. Surely.

It was a pleasant night but for a slightly crisp chill in the air. Lucille pulled herself in tight, arms pressed to her side and folded for some warm respite, though she berated herself for the lack of appropriate clothing, she was still able to enjoy the serenity of night. The cobbled streets smooth surfaces were reflecting the moonlight, each stone warn away through years of footfall in its own unique way, with each indent and divot catching the moons glow differently creating a mosaic of the pathway ahead. Small bugs circled the lanterns that hung from doorways in a mesmerizing dance blissfully filling the quiet night with gentle buzzing and chirps.

Lucille herself shone very clearly against the dark stones and impossibly black alleyways, resplendent in her white blouse and the clean riding trousers, anathema to her surroundings. She was oblivious to the grumbles of confused voices from the streets few residents of the dark hours.

A dishevelled figure emerged from one of the alleys before her. Hunched over and seemingly cradling something in its arms. The figure was wearing a dirtied garb, some torn and tattered dress with a shawl covering her head and features. In agonising hobbled steps, it approached Lucille who drew in a sharp breath and waited.

Seeing Lucille stop her walk the figure hastened its staggered steps and proffered a gnarled, twisted hand towards the princess

“help, please” implored the figure in long drawn out rasps, they reiterated the please with each step, wincing as they did so. The figure raised its head from beneath the shawl to reveal the features of an old lady to Lucille.

“Oh, you poor thing!” the princess started, missing the snort of derisive laughter from a shadowy figure beneath a nearby canopy “You must be starving, I have some bread if you would like?”

She handed the remnants of her roll to the old beggar who snatched it up greedily and in hungry mouthfuls consumed the whole thing, making a series of noises in doing so that were alien and repulsive to the castle raised Lucille.

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When the old lady was finished, she turned again to the Princess, this time with a scowl replacing the imploring pleading eyes of before

“anything else?” the crone demanded. Before Lucille could muster words through her gobsmacked expression the old hag grabbed her by the wrist and was inspecting a gold bangle she wore by pressing her face as close as possible. Lucille could feel the hot breath of the old woman on her hand and the calloused fingers of the beggar were rough and scrapped at the soft flesh of Lucille’s arm.

“Give us that, don’t ya mind” the old lady demanded, bearing a growl at Lucille with her few thin teeth, like those of a rodent.

“Get off me!” Lucille demanded, pulling herself away, but the grip of the old lady was strong and practiced, this time Lucille heard the laughter from the onlooker, who clearly had no intention of helping. “unhand me at once”

“Oh please” the old lady began, attempting again to adopt her practised pleading tone, it was a whiny high pitched thing that Lucille now saw as an act “I’m old and poor, and I have children to feed don’t know you. What good does it do a pretty young thing like you…”

The hag continued to ramble through a rehearsed line of begging and pleading all the while tightening her grip on Lucille’s arm and trying with renewed vigour to remove the bangle by force. Where the Princess held her fist firm preventing the jewellery from slipping off her arm the old lady dug her sharpened fingernails in the soft skin by her thumb eliciting a shriek from Lucille but failing to weaken the young girl’s resistance.

“Give it to me! Give it” The older woman demanded, spittle flying from her cracked lips as all premise of helpless old lady reliant on charity was forgotten. She growled and hissed and spat at Lucille, whose hand now bled. But the Princess, confused still resisted.

“Enough” yelled Lucille and she threw out her hand, striking the old lady across the cheek, partly intentionally though the reaction had been instinctive. The beggar woman shirked away and tended her face as though she had just been the victim of some great and atrocious afront. She dabbed at the struck area and inspected her hand, curling up her face in anger and disgust as though her hand had returned blood from the wound.

“You dare hit me you little bitch!” the woman near roared and rose up, the hunched over ruse now completely dismissed the woman pulled her hand back ready to strike Lucille but was stopped when a figure from behind the Princess intervened.

“Stop This!” The voice rang out, Lucille looked back and saw only a silhouette of a man approaching rapidly, he was reaching into the confines of his cape she noticed before she looked back to the old hag who was rapidly retreating into the alleyway she emerged from. Hunched over once again as though the façade had never stopped.

Lucille drew in a few sharp breaths but the hurried boot falls behind her kept her adrenaline high, she heard a sword being drawn from its scabbard as she was turning to say her thanks and as the man shouted “Come here you” she suddenly realised it may not have been the old woman that he was after. She bolted from the spot. Fear gripping her and though she was tired and warn out, with each sharp inhalation causing pain in her lungs and chest she kept running. Running away from the danger and men with swords, as quickly as she could to the one safe haven she had in the town. Straight to Rancid’s house.

She knew she may find comfort there, but the peace and tranquillity of the night and the serenity of the town with all the mystery and allure it held for her were all gone now. Victims of the night.