PROLOGUE
February 21st, 1836
NORMAL POV.
Sitting crouched flat against a dirty brick wall, the young lady stared absentmindedly as she fiddled with the hem of her torn up, muddy skirt. The sun was blinding and the temperature was far too hot to wear the layered garments that the poor girl was, however she had learned to withstand the torture of the blazing rays of the sun a long time ago.
After her mother having walked out of their once loving household, her unfortunate father had fallen into a state of melancholy that had been proven difficult to pull him out of. Therefore, he turned to more inappropriate means to compensate his broken heart which mainly included alcohol and the event of bringing home a prostitute every-night. How god awful it was to smell the stench of a different vilely sweet perfume every morning and how it made the teenage girl ache all over to see her father smile for a random woman that he knew not even the name of.
Eventually after wasting their once hard earned money entirely on various alcoholic beverages and the high prices of his endeavours when the sun would set, they'd fallen into a rough state of being able to afford the bare minimum to properly survive. Food was rare and poor quality and the water was far too disease-ridden to drink, thus creating the unhealthy cycle of starving for days on end that left the once plump child turning into skin and bones and causing regular passing out sessions from the dangerous dehydration she was experiencing.
Soon, her father had seen he'd had no choice but to do something to put a stopper on their suffering. So, he did what he thought was the best solution in their problem- he abandoned his daughter in the depths of London miles away from their home in the country. If there wasn't as many mouths to feed then not as much money would be put towards feeding them. Consequently, this would mean that he'd have more money to spend on his own personal 'hobbies.'
So that's how young and solitary Emilia Jane Smith wound up alone in the nasty streets of London, surrounded by litter and covered in dirt and grime that she had no efficient way of clearing off of her porcelain skin. Her clothes were no better off as they'd become tattered and ripped, her once long, frilly skirt no longer was as beautiful. At this time, Emilia was age 12 and had no previous experience of being physically alone.
Everything changed when a woman with fiery red hair saved off the streets of London.