A scrawny young girl scampered gleefully down the narrow alleyway, bare soles slapping against the dirt caked street. In her skinny rag adorned arms was a warm loaf of bread and several small, steaming meat pies, which she clutched with a feverish tenacity. Still running, she chanced a look back at her pursuers; two men in dark blue uniforms who were currently yelling some indistinguishable mumbo-jumbo about letting her off easy if she gave up. Me, give up? Hah! Her mischievous brown eyes glittered with excitement as she vaulted over a fence and dashed around the corner, crouching behind a trashcan. Tense with anticipation, she listened for the sounds of their approach. Apparently the dummies were still clambering over the fence. A loud clang and thud signified their eventual success. They tore past her hiding spot without a single backward glance. She sighed with disgust; a peanut had more sense than those two.

"Tag's no fun when you play with idiots," She complained.

She trotted the other way at a leisurely pace, navigating the dark maze-like alleys with ease. Finally, she arrived at the entrance of a tiny street half hidden by the mounds of refuse, which threatened to overwhelm it. She could barely see the shack, stuffed haphazardly between other such shacks and assorted rubble.

"Netsuko will be so proud of me!"

For months, Netsuko had trained her in the delicate Art of Thievery. Though her first attempt was rather crude, she knew Netsuko would be pleased with her eagerness. Breathless with excitement, she rounded the corner -- and stopped dead.

There, sitting before her, was the place she called home.

But the windows were jagged with broken glass.

The drapery was in shreds.

And the door was torn off its hinges, waving to and fro in the slight wind at a peculiar angle.

Even from a hundred feet away, the stench of freshly spilt blood permeated the air.

Mirah screamed. Her cheeks were wet with tears and her breath came fast and shallow. She clutched the blanket to her chest sobbing.

The same nightmare had haunted her for five years now, but she still couldn't shrug off the horror it had instilled deep within her heart. Mirah recalled the event as clearly as if it had happened yesterday.

Without hesitating, she had rushed inside screaming "Nestuko! Netsuko!"

She would've tripped over the crumpled form, had it not been painted crimson with blood. At that moment, her mind went numb and her very marrow seemed to freeze. Her thoughts were either too fast to comprehend or simply nonexistent. Words flashed before her in vivid red: "BLOOD", "DEATH", "PAIN", "MURDER", "REVENGE". Her innocent, naïve 10-year-old mind had been shattered and tainted with blood.

"Mirah…"

A raspy whisper jarred her out of her stupor. She rushed to the dying woman's side, gently propping her head up.

The old woman smiled weakly.

"Don't look so unhappy dear. This was meant to be."

Tears welled up in her eyes, "Don't say that…"

"Be strong Mirah. Like your father...and your mother."

"But you are my mother!"

"Listen to me Mirah. Something bad is going to happen. You must leave this place…find your father."

"Netsuko-sama! You can't leave me!"

The woman brought her hand up to cradle the young girls face, wincing in pain.

"You're a big girl now. Go…to Wing…yes, Wing-san will--"

There was a sudden whirring sound and all of a sudden, the dark handle of a knife was protruding from the old woman's throat. She blinked once and slumped over limply. Too shocked to speak, Mirah turned around. Standing in the doorway was a tall man, his features hidden by the dark shadow that fell across his face. His long silvery white hair hung loosely about his shoulders.

"Dead people shouldn't speak."

"WHY?! Why did you kill her!" She screamed choking with fury. In a split second, she was on him, punching and biting as hard as she could.

He laughed, grabbing her arm and twisting it around her back in one swift motion. She let out a cry of pain

"Poor, poor girl."

He dropped her carelessly on the floor and turned.

"Aren't you going to kill me now?"

He shook his head.

"You aren't my target."

It was as simple as that. A complete stranger -- even worse, some hired assassin, and her life was over. Netsuko was dead. She was alone in a world that hated her.