The dark street was empty. At least, it appeared to be at a casual glance. It wasn't until its lone inhabitant shuddered from the cold and began walking again that anyone would have noticed her.
She was pale, but her light skin was hidden under long, raven locks. She was bundled in a black coat that was far too thin for the weather, but, one could see by her generally shabby appearance, she simply could not afford anything better.
She continued along the shadowy path clutching a small bouquet of dahlias. They were quite different from the other flowers in the stand. The edges of the petals curved backwards instead of forward. 'Some cutting off of a barely living root' the salesman said. 'Les Etoiles de Diable' he called them. The french sounding flowers were not selling so well in the poorer district of England, and the flower seller was more than happy to sell them to the girl at a price she could afford.
The girl had shyly slid her pennies across the counter and started back towards the apartment she shared with her mother.
The flowers were a gift for her. The woman showed no love for her only daughter, yet the girl still felt an obligation to try to please her mother if the opportunity presented itself.
She was lost in the thought that this time she might actually succeed in coaxing a smile from her mother when a pair of arms grabbed her and pulled her into a pitch black alleyway.
The scream that formed in her throat was lost when her head impacted against the cobblestone street. Before she could muster another, a gloved hand closed around her neck like an iron vice.
Though the pain stunned her, she still struggled to get away. Hot tears slid down her face and she redoubled her efforts when her attacker's free hand tugged the tails of her jacket away and slid under her skirt.
Her mind was too clouded with fear and desperation to hear the man above her angrily demand that she stop trying to escape.
In one last attempt she lashed out with her legs and clawed desperately at the hand that was assuring her silence.
She only stopped when a flash of silver glinted in the moonlight and the sharp edge of a knife plunged into her side.
There was an unusual cold that settled into her skin. It had little to do with the man busying himself with unbuttoning her coat, and everything to do with her blood draining from her body to pool underneath them.
Her once pale face was now a ghostly white mask of pure fear. Her breaths were now shallow gasps and her once lovely, dark eyes that glittered with life now clouded with death.
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