On the day that her life had changed forever, Eve woke up with one hell of a headache. Flashing fairy lights in front of her eyes, indicating the onset of a particularly bad migraine. After washing down two aspirin with three day old milk, finding that the bread had become so moldy that even scraping it with a knife would have had no significant effect, she guaranteed herself an especially bad hair day when she used conditioner instead of shampoo to clean her hair. To top it all off, when searching for her uniform, she found that the landlady's cat had used it in place of it's litter tray.

"Bloody pile of shit! That's what my life is." Fuming, she lifted the soiled work clothes and carefully carried them into her kitchen. Silently cursing, she grabbed a bin bag and dropped the offending articles inside.

She opened her second hand refrigerator, ever hopeful that something edible had mysteriously found it's way onto her ever-empty shelves. Instead she found an atrocious amount of beer, some suspiciously green cheese and a couple of eggs that might have been fossilized with age. Either that or they were the remainder of the Easter eggs, some of which she had painted almost four months ago.

As breakfast obviously was not an option, Eve hurried back to the bedroom. Her other uniform was still rolled into a ball in the wash basket, too creased to be worn again. Instead she grabbed a pair of dark blue jeans and a pale blue shirt and put them on.

Unwrapping the towel turban from around her wet hair, she studied herself in the mirror on her vanity desk. Her ink black hair hung in rats' tails around her face, stopping just above her shoulders. Pulling a brush through it she examined the scars around her eyes, down her cheeks and on her chin. Angry red lines crisscrossing in places, not small blemishes easily hidden with the right make up although Eve had tried.

As if trying to make up for the imperfection of her face, Eve had thrown herself into making sure every other aspect of her appearance was perfect. She had her hair cut and styled every few weeks, worked out every evening with the religious dedication of an athlete training for the Olympics and was well dressed for every occasion, whether it be for the weekly journey to the Laundromat at the corner of her street or a swanky party in the hottest club in London.

Maintaining this image came at a price, however, meaning Eve had to wake at the ungodly hour of four in the morning to get to work. Looking in the mirror a little longer, Eve sighed. At twenty seven she should be well on her way to making a life for herself, instead she was stuck in a hovel barely big enough to be called a studio flat and had a job she hated so much that an hour of mind bending torture would be preferable.

"No rest for the wicked, I suppose," she murmured, stretching on tip toe to get her coat down from it's peg at the front door.

Eve had not had the best of beginnings in life. At the tender age of four years old she had lost both parents in a horrific car accident. Badly traumatized she had slipped into an unusual form of catatonia, unable to do anything for herself; she remained silent until her after seventh birthday. Her room was frequented by psychologists and doctors fascinated with her strange condition. Nothing they tried could bring her out of this state of unconsciousness. There was nothing physically wrong with her, no brain damage to explain why she was this way.

And then one day she had returned. Her eyes had focused for the first time in years on a young nurse going through the daily routine. As a strangled gargle forced it's way through her dry, cracked lips, the nurse had almost fainted with shock. Alarm bells sounded calling the duty doctor to her private room, who, in such a state of frenzied excitement, had spilled an entire cup of black coffee down his pristine white jacket.

It had taken four years to adjust Eve back to normal life. Although almost eight years old when she had awoken she still had the mind of a four-year-old child. Extremely disturbed by flashbacks of the accident, she had to have extensive counseling, on top of all the schooling she had missed. When the authorities decided she was still too disturbed to go back to leading a normal life she was sent to a specially selected foster family in which her foster mother had been specially trained to deal with children who had extreme difficulties.

Eventually, Eve had ended up with her aunt, who had engaged the help of several solicitors and had fought endlessly in court for custody.

Twenty years older than her mother, she had been an old lady when Eve had come into her care. Having already experienced the untimely death of her parents and consequently becoming her younger sisters legal guardian at the age of thirty, Aunt May was determined to bring hope into young Eve's life. Optimistic by nature, with formidable coping skills and a deep love of life, May helped Eve to live a relatively normal life.

Those had been happy days, filled with laughter, in spite of the difficulties. When Eve awoke screaming from her nightmares, Aunty May had comforted her. When Eve came home crying, bullied by mindless children because of her scars, Aunty May had made her smile.

It was her time with her Aunt that had brought her to metalworking. May had loved jewellery of all kinds and most of all she had loved her rings. She wore rings of all shapes and sizes, gold, silver, diamond, topaz, sapphire, emerald, plain bands or ornately decorated; there was never an unadorned finger on Aunty May's hands. Eve had especially liked to watch the precious stones flash and sparkle as Aunty May dusted and cleaned.

Even when arthritis crippled her hands, Aunty May wore her most favorite rings on a chain around her neck.

Her death had been a difficult time. Eve had cried for weeks, unable to believe that, at just thirteen years old, she had nobody left to turn to. All her family was gone, taken from her so cruelly. Her parents, her Aunty May, still a sprightly old woman, to cancer. Who would look after her and keep her safe? To make matters worse, her Aunt in her effort to make sure Eve had wanted for nothing, had left a great deal of debt behind, meaning many of the rings which she had left to her niece had to be auctioned off. Eve was left with only a few mementos to remember her Aunt by.

It was these rings that had inspired Eve to go into metalwork. After five years of moving from foster home to foster home, she escaped to college with a scholarship, determined to make a life for herself.

Coming home from the early shift at the components factory at which she had managed to find a temporary position at during the summer, Eve sighed wearily. She climbed the stairs; her footsteps echoing round the bare walls. Today had been near impossible, the air conditioning had packed in again leaving her workspace not much unlike an oven. She was hot and sweaty and unbelievably tired.

Opening the door with her key, she shoved the door open with her shoulder.

"Bloody door! Bloody work! Bloody life," she stomped through to her tiny living space, throwing her bag down on the threadbare sofa.

Reaching for a beer from her clapped out refrigerator and slumping down, with the old sofa protesting loudly, she examined her calloused hands.

She should be making beautiful jewellery with these old hands, not putting together DVD players and mobile phones, she thought angrily. When was she going to get the break she deserved? After four and a half years in college she had become a highly skilled metal smith. Another three years in apprenticeship with a master of metal smiths, in which she had learned to see the beauty, not only in the rings and jewellery she loved to make, but in arms and armour as well.

She couldn't understand why she hadn't been snatched up and given work. It was as if there was a curse hanging over her foiling her every attempt to find gainful employment. Shortly after finishing her apprenticeship, ready to go into work for Chris Topien who had taught her everything she knew, she had fallen down the stairs. Reaching out to save herself, she had sustained bad fractures to both wrists. Put out of action for six months, she had been almost driven mad with worry about losing the strength in her hands. Like a brain surgeon, she would be useless without full use of all her fingers. She had recovered fully, but not before the position went to a more available apprentice.

Then she had been offered a job with a company making custom made swords and helmets for on line customers. Although it was jewellery she wanted to make, she enjoyed time and effort that went into making a functional sword. It had sounded like an interesting job, but unfortunately it had been in America. Having only just established herself in London, she felt loath to up and leave. Also, she had an extreme fear of flying, or, to tell the truth, any form of public transport. She hated not being in control and preferred to get about by bike and, at most, in her little runabout car for longer journeys.

So here she was, stuck working in the job from hell, with no career prospects on the horizon. Sighing, Eve rose and went into her tiny bathroom. Wrinkling her nose at the smell of mildew that seemed to permeate the walls, no matter how much she cleaned it, she twisted the hot tap on. After a great deal of spluttering water came rushing out. Testing its warmth, she grimaced. Perhaps she should boil the kettle a couple of times.

As she was boiling the kettle, the doorbell rang.

"Coming," she yelled.

Peeking through the spy hole, she saw Mrs Bodkins, her annoying elderly landlady.

As wide as she was tall, Mrs Bodkin had to be the world's most interfering person Eve had ever met. In her sixty's she looked like a caring old granny. Nothing was further from the truth. Evelyn, as her bridge club buddies called her, like to know everything that was going on. She was an incorrigible snoop, and a terrible gossip, but what Eve hated most was that she allowed her flea-bitten old tomcat have the run of the building, hence the little present left on her uniform this morning.

Mrs Bodkin cleaned all the flats under her tenancy, a condition laid down in the lease agreement Eve had signed. This gave the old woman opportunity to rifle through her clients private lives with utmost ease. This pissed Eve off, especially as the fee for cleaning was included in her rent.

"What is it Mrs Bodkin," Eve asked as she opened the door. Although the box addressed to Eve was pretty self-explanatory.

"Hello! As you can see I have something that belongs to you. It was delivered a couple of days ago." Mrs Bodkin pursed her lips with a look of distaste.

"I really wish that you would give out your proper address. I can't keep running up all these stairs delivering things willy-nilly for you young lady! I do have arthritis you know. A lady of my condition should not have to run errands for someone as perfectly capable as yourself."

"Thank you Mrs Bodkin, it won't happen again. So sorry about your arthritis." Eve groaned inside, waiting for the lecture she knew was about to come.

"Well, don't let it happen again. I suppose you'll be wanting this," Mrs Bodkin handed her the package and turned to go. "You know, in my day…"

Hastily, Eve retreated backwards, closing the door just as Mrs Bodkin turned to finish her lecture. Eve had heard it all before, and certainly did not want to hear it again.

"I wonder what this could be," Eve spoke aloud to herself.

The parcel was light, and did not rattle when Eve shook it. She checked the postmark. New Zealand! Who did she know in New Zealand? Ripping off the tape she opened the box.

A manila envelope sat in the box. There was no writing on the outside to explain what it was, so she ripped it open. Two plane tickets fell out along with a hand written note.

"Strange!" Eve said examining the airline tickets. They were booked from Heathrow to Auckland airport. One there, one back. She picked up the note hoping for some explanation.

Dear Eve,

Your dreams can come true. Trust me when I say this is something you have always dreamed of. Hope you like your present.

PJ

Attached to the bottom of the letter was a simple gold band. Looking closer she saw it was engraved with what looked like some kind of writing. She turned it over in her hands, admiring the workmanship of the simple gold ring.

Checking the dates on the tickets, she realized they were for today.

"Oh shit! Bloody Mrs Bodkins."

Eve could not help but wonder what this PJ had meant about her dreams coming true. Was this some sort of job offer? To make jewellery? There was no contact address or telephone number, it seemed the only way she would find out was to go to New Zealand. Could she do that?

Looking again at the tickets in her hands, she wondered. What did she have here to keep her?

"Nothing, I have nothing here." She was surprised at the anger in her voice. Perhaps it was the hellish day that had made up her mind, or the question of how she was going to pay next months rent, but suddenly and recklessly, Eve decided to go.

Leaving the envelope and its contents on the table she walked into her bedroom. Doubts overwhelmed her as she threw clothes into her backpack. She couldn't fly! What if something happened? What if the plane crashed?

Steeling herself for the inevitable flashback, she was hugely surprised when it didn't come. Maybe she was getting better. After all these years she should be able to deal with relinquishing control to a skilled pilot. Someone who flew every day without problems. For once she had decided to face her fear instead of avoiding it.

Checking the tickets again, Eve realized that she could never make it across London by car in time for the flight.

"Two firsts in one day. London Tube here I come."