PART I
The streets of London were almost bare, only a few dingy people stood on the edges of the sidewalks, huddled together to keep warm. The only sound that could be heard was the sound of the rain beating upon the black streets, the same rain that was causing Millicent's hair to stick to her face as she struggled to walk on land. She had been at sea for so long.
Millicent finally got her balance on the wet cobblestones, and adjusted her yellow skirts around her. The bottom was already wet from the puddles in the streets. London was certainly different than she'd imagined in her daydreams. Instead of bustling buggies and street vendors selling various colorful items she'd never heard of, it was dark and stormy, almost an ominous city. She felt a bit uneasy, but she just shrugged it off as nerves. She had never been this far from home before.
The people of London stared at Millicent as she hurried down the wet streets, staying under building awnings to try and avoid the rain. She passed by one shop and tried to look in, but it was too dark inside. Instead she was met with her own appearance: a rain-drenched young woman in her early 20's. Millicent thought she looked a dreadful sight, so she used the opportunity to fix her appearance a bit. Her bright red hair was a stark contrast to the dark city of London, so she tried to fix it by smoothing it down a bit. She frowned at her reflection. Her hair never would flatten down the way she wanted it to. She decided to cover it with the dark green cloak tied around her neck.
Giving up, she turned on her heel and gasped as she ran straight into a beggar man. His shiny bald head, loose eye, and missing teeth were enough to set her on edge. She tried to skirt around him, but he grabbed her by the arm and she was face to face with him.
"Hello, missy," he said, and Millicent winced at his sour breath. He tugged on one of the curly pieces of her hair, and she swatted his hand away.
"Fiesty," he muttered, and then smirked. "They always say the redheads are feisty. That's the way I like 'em."
He started to reach for the buttons on her dress, but Millicent shrieked and pushed him to the ground with both hands. Startled, he lay for a second in the puddles, and Millicent backed up slowly. Once she saw he was down, she started to sprint down the street, her hood falling off her head, causing her flaming red hair to billow out behind her. She didn't look back.
The beggar man lay, shocked on the sidewalk, and then sat up.
"They say redheads are witches too! You'll be burned at the stake!" he called out to her, but she didn't look back. He didn't know if she heard him or not.
She did.
By the Millicent had to stop to catch her breath, she wasn't sure if it was tears or raindrops falling down her face. She hadn't expected the people of London to be so…well…full of shit. The men looked at her like they were thinking nasty thoughts, and the women gaped at her bright hair and colorful clothing like she was something to be afraid of. Not knowing where she was now, or what building she was leaning up against, Millicent wiped her eyes and looked up. The sky churned gray and black above a shop across the street. The awning read "Mrs. Lovett's Meat Pies", although the shop itself looked like it hadn't been open in years.
Judging from the lights out in most of the shops, she figured it was night time. She had expected to find her host by this time, and now she didn't even know where she was. Millicent looked up again and saw that the sign across the road read "Fleet Street".
What an odd name.
Millicent wondered if there was anybody in town she could ask about her whereabouts to who wasn't violent or downright terrible. Then she noticed something that stood out in the dark shadow of London.
A candle burned in a room above the pie shop.