"No! Please, no!" she pleaded, tears streaming down her face. "Don't hurt me!"

Fear contorting her features, the young girl pulled her thin woolen jacket tighter around herself.

The only surviving member of her once-large family, she lived with her employers, the Andersons. A maid by profession, she cooked, cleaned and ran errands for the wealthy family. Her mistress had sent her to retreive a dress the lady had had made by the seamstress', and she was returning from the errand.

It was late, and she had had her qualms about fetching the dress. London at night was not safe for a young woman. Nevertheless, she had done as she was told, and picked up the garment. But, on her way back to the manor, two strangers had come after her threateningly. Keeping to her path down the alley that led to her destination, she had tried to evade her followers, but to no avail.

Backing away further from her pursuers, she fled deeper into the darkened alley. The strangers followed her, like lions stalking a wounded antelope. Panic smothered her senses, and she full-out ran down the alley.

Unfortunately, her shoes weren't suited for running, and neither was her dress. Tripping on the hem of her skirt, she fell hard to the ground. Landing on her hands and knees, the shock of the impact jarred her. Frantically, she spun around to see if she was still being followed.

Her pursuers stood a few inches away from her, garbed in dark trench coats and wide-brimmed hats. They were both shorter than her by a head or two, about the height of a child.

Terror-stricken, she found she could do little more than stay frozen to the spot. Trying to gather up some courage, she attempted to glare at the two.

"W-what do you want with me?" she demanded, trying to sound angry. In truth, she was too scared to be very aggravated.

They drew closer, feet moving almost synchronized. If she didn't know better, she would have guessed that they were about to dance. Stopping about a foot from her, they leaned in menacingly. Even with their diminutive stature, they easily towered over her (she was, after all, still on the ground). Something that sounded suspiciously like an overjoyed little giggle burst from one of the strangers. Oddly enough, it just added to the horrific ness of the situation.

She couldn't help but wonder what kind of vile acts they would perform on her that could cause them to giggle in anticipation. The fellow that wasn't giggling reached deep into his coat and pulled out a huge, wickedly sharp butcher knife. If she hadn't been terror-stricken, she would have been rather perturbed at the bright shade of orange his skin was.

Gaze riveted on the large blade, she didn't notice what the other one was doing until a large wad of something fluffy was shoved into her mouth. It had the texture of cotton candy as well as the taste. However, she found it very sticky, cementing her jaws shut. Now they both gripped shiny knives, and were closing in on her. She tried to scream, but the sticky substance in her mouth muffled the sound.