Sorry for the delay in uploading - the good news is I'm more focused than ever, and the last few chapters are actually finished, so hopefully you'll have to wait less time between chapters. (Key word being hopefully.) Loyal readers will notice this isn't actually a new chapter, but it needed to be edited to make the story run more smoothly.

Morning arrived quickly. Bright shafts of sunlight broke through the flimsy curtains which covered the dirty cracked windows of the Stella, blinding the girl as she opened her eyes groggily. Where was she? In a moment of madness, an odd thought entered her head: perhaps she had died. Was she in heaven or in hell, she wondered dreamily. Snippets of conversation drifted up from below:

"Someone's here early today," a gentle voice - a girl's - remarked dryly. "Have you even combed your hair today?"

"Get off!" snapped another voice irritably. His voice. "Stop fussing, Hornet." There was a short silence and then he spoke again, softer this time. "Sorry. Didn't get much sleep last night. And anyway, someone's got to check you lot haven't killed the guest yet."

"Oh all right, but I don't see why you don't just spend the night here, like the rest of us, Scip," muttered the girl - Hornet? - darkly.

"I told you - it's Scipio," her friend sighed.

The girl barely remembered anything, except for a jumble of blurry faces and indistinct words. Adjusting her eyes to the harsh light, the girl took in her surroundings. She appeared to be in a small, dilapidated room which looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years. Beneath her lay an assortment of old blankets and clothes - some of which were riddled with holes - and the faint smell of forgotten memories and clung to them. The room appeared to be some sort of storage unit, for several pieces of abandoned paraphernalia - including, bizarrely a large letter S - were scattered haphazardly on the dusty carpet. Upon one set of wooden drawers which were missing two of its knobs, a gold pocket watch and a pearl necklace in pristine condition sat proudly, glistening in the bright morning light. They seemed oddly exquisite compared to the other objects in the room.

Absent-mindedly, the girl put a hand on her chest to clutch her own locket. It wasn't there. Gripped with fear, she nervously began stroking her collarbone, as if by doing so, she could make the locket magically materialise. It was of great value to her. She pulled herself up, but slumped back down again as the pain jolted within her and she was forced to move back down. The girl groaned quietly and then, like an avalanche, all memories of the past forty eight hours came flooding back.

The girl had to get out of here. Fast. She was not safe here - the only way to be free was to find her deceased mother, who surely was looking for her at this very moment in time. She just didn't know where to look. Trust nobody, her mother had told her, a principle which had proven to be wise time and time again. After picking up her bag and quickly slinging it over her shoulder, the girl began searching through every drawer, every nook, every cranny in the room as quickly as she could, for fear she might have simply misplaced it, even though she had taken it off since the day her mother had fastened it around her neck.

She was so busy she didn't hear the sound of footsteps as the Thief Lord approached the room, and only noticed when the door was flung open. "Going somewhere?" he asked, eying the bag hanging precariously on the girl's back.

"I can't stay here."

"I can't make you stay. But you should know… I can help you." His face was earnest, his voice sincere, but still, a feeling of unease crept up the girl's spine.

"Well, you're wrong. No one can help me - what makes you any different?"

"Suit yourself," said Scipio coolly, digging into her trouser pocket. "But I suppose you won't want this then…" He lifted his arm until it was level with his head, dangling a long chain on which a gold heart hung.

"You had no right to take that," interjected the girl angrily. "It's mine."

"Pardon my saying, but one of your … attire, does not normally possess such a valuable item."

"I'm not a thief, if that's what you're saying."

"Your early activities would suggest otherwise. One o'clock, Azalea Square - ring any bells?"

The girl blushed at her earlier exploits. She had had no intention of stealing off anyone - her mother had bought her up with a strong sense of right and wrong - but she'd been so cold and hungry. The stark reality had very different to her expectation on Venice. She had had hoped to reinvent herself here, find a new identity, but people had just looked at her the same way they had always done: with suspicion, their accusing eyes saying what their mouths would never dare say.

"Give it back," demanded the girl, stretching out to snatch it back. As she did so, she strained the sight of the stab, forcing her to double up, and she clutched her wound. Scipio lifted the necklace higher still. He was a good few inches taller than the girl and she could no longer reach it, even if she had not been in unbearable agony. He then swayed the locket, swinging it in a pendulum motion, so that it caught the sunlight, taunting her.

"I'm afraid I can't do that. I've got a bunch of children down there that need feeding. I think this should cover what you took from me."

Frustrated at the Thief Lord's games, the girl attempted to grab hold of the necklace once more, but the fine chain The first tears already preparing to fall, the girl pushed pass Scipio angrily and ran down the stairs and out the door, ignoring the wound which tugged and pulled at her insides, coiling its fiery tendrils around everything it touched.