Tumultuous.

That’s the only way to describe life over the last few months, so disturbing that I’ve rarely had time to put quill to parchment. There’s no excuses now that I’ve learned well to make my own and yet, I find myself reluctant to pen my thoughts.

The city rages on. Elbahn’s die are in my favor and then they aren’t. I soar on wings, and then I tumble into depths that hold more dread for me than the ocean itself.

Perhaps if I stopped spending coin on clothing I’d have enough to ensure my own title.

But until then, it seems I’ve caught the eye of a Marquess. I’m fairly uncertain, at this point what to think of her. Perhaps it’s nothing other than an idle interest in passing the time, but she’s caught the interest of the mage, and without a doubt will have the Baron hooked as well.

The promises she made me though… can I trust them or were they just the flippant words of a silly noble? They could prove to be exactly what I’ve wanted for so very long.

Shadows stole across the square where people gathered, frittering away the last moments of daylight. The welcomed respite from the daily grind – mere moments before harrowed mothers dragged home their less-than-willing children, while work-wearied men slipped off to the nearby taverns to drink – these mere moments proved more valuable to the slip of a girl that hid in the shadows than her countless days filled with begging and scrap collecting ever could.

There he was. The perfect target. A gentleman, well dressed even at the end of the day when the dust and grime of the city had long since settled on everything and everyone, wearing leathers and wool with a glint of silver in each ear. A plain silver ring caught her eye, visible around his finger for the brief moment it took to slip a heavy coin purse into the pocket of his woolen tunic.

The moment begged for her to act. It called out to her with the sweet promise of full bellies and warm clothing, perhaps even a solid roof over her head to block out Darkfall’s chill. Oh so many were the promises of that heavy purse and, beneath them all, the seductive siren’s song – riches untold, awaiting her.

She moved. A shadow in the shadows, she slipped between the tightly packed bodies of the citizens who had begun to move on, now, towards their homes and taverns, all in her efforts to reach him undetected.

Holding her breath she inched forward and stretched out a bony, dirty hand. Her fingers brushed over wool, tightened around leather, and began to slowly withdraw.

And then, a searing pain shot through her wrist, drawing stunned, inky-black eyes upward towards a cold, cruel face from which the eyes of the most patient of predators watched her impassively.