Ophelia looked down to her palm.

Her other hand massaged gently at the ache of the splinter, but she feared she only made it worse. She shook her hand, hoping to jostle the pain away as her eyes finally broke from her anger. Around her, more buildings. More people. More stones. More coldness.

Her only light now was from the burning braziers and lanterns that dotted the expanse above her. The chill made her pull her cloak around her tighter. Her breath a soft billow of white before her. She moved towards a corner where she hoped to spot a metal plaque with the street name. But, there wasn’t one.

Ophelia rolled over her surroundings.

And searched.

And searched.

She moved down darker alleys where people curled in the shadows, clutching their pistol when they spotted her. A pack of strays looked up as she passed them. They followed her gait with slowly turning heads, muzzles twitching to growl, before diving back into their meal.

The curl and claw up her spine grew.

Though the architecture was familiar, she didn’t recognize the district. The air, though circling, hit her nose differently. The buildings towered ever so slightly taller to steal just a bit more light. The grime on the stones was thick and putrid. When she walked, she misjudged the slope of the streets and felt more than lost. She felt queasy.

As she turned down another street, she tripped on a loose stone. She tried to right herself, but she slid down the stone wall, torquing her wrist. She hissed in pain as she brought it to her body to coddle it.

“Ye a’right there, mam?”

Around the corner, a trio of people locked their gaze on her. Their clothing was nice enough, but to Ophelia who drowned in wealthy and opulent peacocks in the Vista, she quickly noticed the collection of mixed suits. Jackets that weren’t tailored to their bodies and shoes in need of a polish.

“I’m all right,” she tried to assuage them through winces.

They didn’t seem satisfied. One spat and threw the rolled cigarette to the stone, where he stomped it out. The others moved to Ophelia. “Looks awfully swollen, mam.”

She looked down to it. It was.

“Ca’mon, Kitt’s mum will see to it.”

The one who had squashed the cigarette snapped up. “Like hell she would. She’s cross today.”

“She cross with you e’ryday,” said the other.

Kitt pouted as he walked over to Ophelia. Under the lamplight by her, she swore he was no older than a young-teen. The dirt on his face made to look like scruff aged him more than he was, but it was his eyes, golden-brown, that gave away his age. Kitt rolled up the sleeve of his shirt clearly not made for him, then held out his hand. He wiggled his fingers, urging Ophelia to let him look at it.

She looked them all over again. Then she timidly held her arm towards them. Kitt held it gently and lifted the woolen glove off her wrist.

He whistled. “Damnit, looks like ya are gon’hav to see Mum.”

The trio cocked their hands and waved their hands for Ophelia to follow. Kitt stood next to her and looped her good arm around his own. “Don’t want the shady bunch getting any ideas. Yer under our protection now.”

They led her down another alley to a door lit by a lantern that Ophelia wasn’t sure how was still hanging. One of the lads pounded their fist on the wood.

“Oi, it’s Kitt,” called the boy who wasn’t Kitt.

Something growled in the back and shifted, then a peek-hole on the door peeled open. A man with sneering eyes appeared in the dark.

“What you want?” He barked, then looked to the covered Ophelia. “Who that?”

“C’mon, open up, Mum needs to see to her. She busted up her arm,” said Kitt.

“Then take ‘er to a Doctor.”

“At this hour,” huffed another of the trio.

The peek-hole closed. There was silence for a moment before the door moaned and croaked open. The man smoothed down his long tunic and held his hand out to usher them in. The four of them stepped into the backroom. Then one of the boys peeled back a heavy curtain and they were flooded with light.

Ophelia tilted her eyes away. It ached.