Prologue:

There he was, cute as always. The three girls couldn't help but giggle in excitement at the sighting of the boy. They were quietly crouched behind a nearby food stand, staring as the newsboy with brilliant blue eyes casually conversed with one of his comrades. They would have been able to spy longer had not a rather grumpy German woman shouting obscenities eventually shoo them away.

As they lulled back to their homes in the hot summer's eve, they marveled at what life would be like if they were different, if they weren't so privileged. They tensed as they imagined living on the streets and selling anything they could just to get a day's worth of food.

"Can you even imagine how you would keep yourself clean!" One blonde girl squeaked.

"How about afford different outfits – I can't stand wearing the same thing twice, let alone the same thing every day," complained another. Both girls looked expectantly at their third companion, who remained quietly in a daze as they continued walking.

After a few beats of expectant silence, the two girls in unison asked, "Isabel?"

Brought out of her elusive trance, Isabel looked at her neighbors and just smiled. She could deal with those things, she thought, but she loved her life, she absolutely loved it. She loved being spoiled. She, over all, loved the attention she received for being who she was – filthy and utterly rich.

"I could handle it," she replied with a cocky air, "but I don't know why on earth you girls are even thinking about it at all."

The two girls looked at each other with stares of doubt and annoyance. "You could not handle it, Isabel, what are you even saying? You couldn't last a day without your precious bath or your daily grooming team. Admit it."

"I could last a day on my own! Easy." Isabel snapped, offended at the prospect of someone thinking her inadequate of anything. "If anything, none of them could last a day in my shoes."

Once more, a look of annoyance passed between the other two girls. "Yeah, because your life is just so complicated." One replied sarcastically. Isabel was, once again, offended at this remark.

"Excuse me! I actually do have a more trying life than you two may care to realize!" She shot back, her nose becoming even more intimate with the heavens.

"Alright Isabel, whatever you say." One girl replied, defeated and knowing the counter argument to be useless.

After their departure, Isabel walked up the many steps to her house, reveling in how beautiful it was. She was lost deep in thought as she walked through the front door, being politely greeted by their night duty butler, a man whose name she still had yet to learn.

"Isabel, is that you?" Slurred an all too familiar voice.

"Yes, mother." She replied, reluctant to have a chat with her all but sober stepmother. She was young and loved her morning champagne, and her afternoon white wine, and her dinner red wine; and then maybe a shot of brandy over ice for dessert, but only if it is a regular day. Should there be an evening party, then there was really no limit to the amount of fine alcohol consumed in one evening.

"How was your day, Isabel dear?" She asked as Isabel entered their living room to find her stepmother lounging upon a small sofa, posing as though she was being painted.

Before Isabel could reply, her stepmother stated, "I was in a brilliantly pleasant mood earlier and decided to assist some of our maids in cleaning." By assisting, Isabel knew that this most nearly meant she was dutifully watching the maids. "I happened to come across something in your room that I have a few questions about."

Isabel froze in her place, her mood changing swiftly from irritation to apprehension. "What's that?" She questioned, attempting to sound anything but slightly nervous, her heart beginning to pick up speed.

"Oh nothing, really," slurred her elegant stepmother, "I just noticed you have stopped painting -- and I think that that's really a wonderful thing, by the way -- I was just hoping you could move the easel out into our living room for a while, so we can appear more refined and … cultured, if you will. For our next few parties, of course. We're having a few successful artists and publishers over and I want to impress."

Isabel let out a sigh of relief. "Sure, I suppose. But just because I haven't had time to paint lately does not mean I've stopped altogether. I still love it and don't intend on stopping anytime soon."

"Alright, darling. Whatever you insist. Now, if you don't mind, I would like to enjoy some time out here alone. It was lovely chatting with you." And with that swift and delicate conclusion, her stepmother turned her head and continued sipping her glass of wine, Isabel's cue to exit.

As she made her way to her room, she thought about how ridiculous she had been for being nervous. There was no way her stepmother would care to go through her things enough to find her out. No way. She grinned to herself, shaking her head, and opened the door to her room.

After spending plenty of time settling in her room and resting on her rather inviting bed, she lazily looked at the clock on her nightstand. She suddenly realized that she would be late meeting with her friend and was up in an instant. They always got together every Thursday night to enjoy a good laugh, and maybe a few rounds of poker. Both had known the other since childhood and had remained good friends, even through many trying circumstances.

She reached inside her bursting closet and fished out the clothes she was looking for, safely hidden in the back.

I really ought to get some new skirts for this sort of thing, she thought to herself as she eyed the slightly rancid outfit – rancid compared to what she was used to, of course, and not exactly the kinds of garments fit for a rich girl. I'm getting quite sick of wearing this old thing every Thursday.

She made a mental note to herself to go shopping the next day as she pulled off her dress and put on her new – and yet, not so nice – attire, ready to head out. To conceal her new outfit underneath it, she slipped into her nice fur coat. There was really no point in trying too hard. After all, the company she was about to be in could care little to nothing about what she was wearing.

The night breeze touched her face in such a loving, delicate way, she could not help but close her eyes and open up her palms to it. There was nothing in the world that could make her feel so free as when she felt that breeze. Sometimes, she would imagine the breeze picking her up and carrying her along with it, leaving her soaring like a bird over the city beneath her.

After her surprisingly brief encounter with the evening's draft, she had reached her destination, the sounds of clinking beer glasses and laughter exuding from the cozy night café. She was greeted by several people outside with a tip of their hats and she smiled and nodded in response.

The small room that made up the café was filled with all kinds of people, young and old, emanating a comfortable and welcoming glow. There was a band playing a good dancing tune in the far corner, and several people were merrily filing onto the dance floor.

Making her way through the crowds of people, she maneuvered her way to the back, where she could tell there was an intense game of poker going on. As she approached the table, a young man with sparkling blue eyes looked up at her and smiled, a crooked, smug smile that she knew all too well.

"Well, look who finally decided to join us, eh fellahs?" The boy said, getting up and making his way to Isabel, with several unintelligible grunts from a few of the boys.

"Hello there, Spot. Sorry I'm late."