The girl with the pearls
Chapter one: Florence
A girl, barley twelve years old – and small for her age at that – weaves deftly through the crowded streets. Nobody notices the child with the straggly blonde hair, a bedraggled cloth tied around her torso. Nobody cares about the girl with no father – why should they? The streets bustle with life, women of the town haunting each corner, but nobody knows her here, nobody recognises her young face, and though the city is filled with people, she is alone. It isn't to say she didn't like it that way – she relished the ability to slip by inconspicuously, and was content in her own company.
She barely glances at the path, knowing the way instinctively. These streets were her home. Not a penny to her name, not a soul to rely on, she lived on her wits. Turning to crime to survive, she took only what she needed; an apple, and hunk of cheese, a slab of bread – nothing fancy, nothing expensive, though undoubtable she would easily have been able to slip away gold, jewellery, just about anything she wanted, undetected.
Her birth name, Florence, was long forgotten. It didn't belong to her anymore; she hadn't been addressed by it for as long as she could remember. Florence. It had a strange ring to it, it felt distant. Florence was a different person. Florence was a younger girl, with neat plaited hair tied with ribbons, a dress trimmed with lace, and a pearl necklace hugging her throat. Five years was a long time to be nameless, unknown.
Five years was a long time to live alone, out on the streets, and there came a time when the young girl needed something to change. She was lost, lost in the streets she knew so well she could walk blindfolded and find her way. She had grown tired of only her own company; the streets of Paris are lonely if you are alone. There was a place she knew, but it had never crossed her mind to make her home. Now, though, now she needed the reassurance of someone by her side, to make her feel less alone. She could have survived on her own, but she could never live that way.
The Court of Miracles - the home of disease and hunger, the birthplace of poverty, the school of crime.
Pickpockets, prostitutes, cons and thieves – even assassins, although it was mostly thugs and petty criminals, survived on crime, just as she had done. These people had a home in the city, they had friends, both of which she longed for again.
Two boys with dark skin mulled over the spoils of that day – some cloth, a ring, an assortment of pretty, useless things. One looked up, he was younger than the other – perhaps fourteen, but she couldn't be sure. They could have been brothers, but weren't. The younger boy, with long curly hair and enchanting eyes, raised his head as she walked by, and smiled. He had seen her. He had acknowledged her existence. The girl, who had been invisible for years, living in the shadows, glowed inside.
Hey, so thanks for reading this - I hope you liked it :) Please leave a review, it would mean a lot to me if you did as it's always exciting to see someone has taken the time to give a bit of feedback. Thank you - Sophia