What was supposed to have been a summer's afternoon - dead in the middle of June, the 15th to be exact - had once again turned out dull and dreary, a harsh wind blowing back the slightly long brown hair of Andrew Hope. While exploring the big city, he had found himself lost once again. This wa the fifth time this week, though this time he had been lost for two hours.

He had wandered into some sort of neigbourhood, gated and prestigious he had guessed by the sie of the houses. He let out a deep sigh of irritation, kicking a large grey pebble as he made his way over to a small wooden bench. The bench was still damp from last night's heavy downpour, but he sat on it anyway. He just took his jacket off and sat on that, so that he did not get wet. He pulled a faded piece of paper from one of his may trouser pockets, a map of London he had purchassed from a strange man in a bookstore the previous Friday, the day he had arrived with Mr. Todd.

He found his mind wandering to Mr Todd. How was he doing? Perhaps, when he found his way, he should pay him a visit, just to say hello and check up on the man. As far as he knew, Mr Todd knew nobody in and nothing of this strange city, neither did he. Yet he spoke of it with such dark familiarity, he began to wonder.

Realizing finally that he had been holding the map upside down the whole time, he silently cursed himself.

What' wrong with you, Andrew? he wondered, mentally kicking himself hard in the head for his own stupidity. Get a hold of -

He stopped dead in his tracks.

A glorious sound filled his ears, a high soprano voice. It was sort of how he had always imagined a lark or a nightingale would sound, if ever he should hear one. He looked up, but he saw no bird. He quickly shoved the map back into his pocket and craned his neck, squinting his eyes. He was about to give up when the noise grew louder. Only then did he realize that it was no bird making that beautiful sound, it had to be a woman.

He listened carefully, tracing the source of the sound to a hige Gothic mansion. The mansion was made of stone, towering far above him with a chocolate door. Black, red and white roses overgrew the back garden, along with many thorns and brambles. The houe was securely shielded by a spiked fence and a set of black wrought0iron gates, sealed with a rusted old padlock. Curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself peering into every window in the house.

He counted them.

Fifty.

Therer were fifty window, and in one of them, the fourth window on the second floor, sat the most bautiful girl he had ever seen. Her skin wa as white as snow, her eyes as blue as the sky above. Her luscious lips were a rich ruby red,ut not by lipstick. She looked like something straight out of the Victorian era, with her long, hip-length honeycomb locks, half of them tied in a plaited pony-tail, two plaits hanging down the side of her head. She wore an exquisite pearl necklace, shimmering as it caught the sun's light. He could just about make out a birdcage next to her, one of those posh ones that only rich peope could afford.

He crept closer, trying to get a better look.

She was still singing, but he had not yet noticed him. He tutted silently: she was all the way up there, how could she get him to look down here?
Lady, look at me, look at me,

Miss, oh look at me!
Please!
Oh, favour me, favour me with your glance.

Ah, miss,

What do you see up there on those trees?
Oh won't you give, won't you give me a chance?

He found himself absent-midedly waving his arm, trying to beckon her eyes in his direction but to no avail. The mysterious lady - actually a young woman - did not look his way.

Although he could not see it, she wore a long peech gown. The gown was trimmed with lace at the top, a round-neck that scooped just above her enormous breasts. The bodace was tight, while the skirt puffed out. The sleeves were long and lacy, and the dress was covered in bows. She loved bows, she loved lace, she loved frills. Her guardian insisted upon her being clad in only the finest of materials. Nothing but the best would do for his "darling child."

But who was this girl?

he made his way towards the nearest tree, scaling it with great skill. By jumping from branch to branch, swinging like Tarzan, he found himself able to jump onto her window ledge. He tapped three times on her window, flashing him a small, sad smile.

Why was she so sad?

He tried to ask her, but she did not open her window. Something had startled her, as she quickly drew her curtains and retreated back into the darkness of her enormous bedroom.

Andrew let out a small sigh, a huge grin creeping across his face as he fell from the tree, landing just outside the huge fence.

"Sir?"
He looked up, stunned. It was the old Beggar woman, the one that had made advances towards Mr. Todd. She was offering her grubby hand in a kind gesture, trying to help him up. He accepted, his hand bleeding from the fall. She hauled him up, looking at him. Just as Mr Todd had thought, her eyes were a clear crystal blue.

"Thank you," his voice was kind and gentle. She nodded, snorting a little and turned to leave. On a whim, an impule, he quickly caught her by the shoulders and spun her to face him.

"One moment, ma'am. Do you know who's houe this is?"
"Ahhh..." her face looked like it was contorting in pain. "That's the great Victor Thyme's house, that is."
"And the young lady who resides there?"
The lady's face twisted up into a very odd facial expression as she murmured her response.

"Ahhh, her. That's...that' Belladonna, his pretty little ward. Keeps her snug, he does, all locked up. So don't even think about trespassing there, young man. Victor doesn't take too kindly to young visitors with michief on their minds..."
before he could press her for any further information she was off, scampering across the road like a wounded deer. His thoughts were so fixated upon the mysterious Belladonna, he did not hear the door ope. Nor did he see the middle-aged man approach him. Not until he felt a set of eyes watching him did he turn to see the man.

He wa a tall man, largely built and very imposing. He had tanned skin and black hair that was quickly greying. His nose was slightly hooked, and his white teeth ever so slightly crooked. He had only a few wrinkles, but those he had were extremely prominant. His eyes were a deep chocolate brown, yet they seemed somehow cold, sinister.

"Come in lad, come in."