A Pledge of Survival

Prologue

England 1801,

London buzzling streets mirrored the frenetic lives of those that found enjoyment by wandering, in search of gossips and comfort. London was an insatiable creature, sating its appetite through the opulence of a few and the wretchedness of others. This allure found its rationale in the stark absence of compassion for the most unfortunate. 

It is in the small adjoining street not a great distance from the stylish boutiques the genuine monsters slinked, concealed from the view of those whose hunger was not nagging. Those monsters never encroached upon the realm of the wealthiest. The sole resonance surmounting the precincts of these somber streets consisted of the faint whispers of the feeble, whose voices were wrested from them and abandoned to the shadows. 

The privileged knew of the exitance of the penniless, often meeting their empty gazes before averting their eyes . London was a creature sustained by the mutual disregard of its inhabitants. The beast was in plain sight and no one dared slit its throat.

For those who grew up surrounded by dirt and the indifferent glances of passersby, a solitary concept echoed unceasingly within their minds: survival. This notion reverberated within Eleanor's thoughts as she silently traversed the streets, her footfalls tracing the well-trodden path. This task had become customary, yet Eleanor's stomach constricted with trepidation, fearing being caught . To console herself, she recited her actions in hushed tones.

"Fear not, Eleanor, you have performed this task countless times. Approach the bustling bread merchant, lower thy gaze, gather the stale fragments, and depart with discretion."

Eleanor's equilibrium wavered, and an encroaching sense of nausea threatened to engulf her. She abhorred her role as a pilferer. She was a thieve and she hated it. There was a time where she would have refused to make use of such reprehensible act. Eleanor had no choice, she felt trapped. Thoughts of an honorable vocation, liberating her from ignominy, remained distant dreams. But it was not merely about her; she pondered the mouths waiting patiently to be fed. Fear, she realized, was a luxury reserved for those with satisfied stomachs.

Her slight form afforded her anonymity. Summoning her resolve, Eleanor departed from the shadowed lanes and merged into the bustling arteries of London. Navigating Oxford Street, she kept her gaze lowered, avoiding inadvertent contact.

She abhorred meeting the eyes that regarded her with condescension, as if those gazes were impervious to vulnerability. Even beneath those elegant dresses and tailored ensembles, secrets were hidden. Those women, she knew all too well, were beguiled by their husbands' deceit, and the so-called lords and gentlemen found pleasure in prowling destitute neighborhoods, seeking hapless victims.

"Freshly baked loaves! A penny per pound!" bellowed the baker. Amidst the gathering; Eleanor surreptitiously pocketed fragments of bread. The fragrance teased her senses, her stomach growling in response, a poignant reminder they would be no dinner for her tonight. Four pieces would suffice; she dared not risk lashes or imprisonment due to neglect.

As she withdrew, her eyes inadvertently locked with a stranger's gaze, someone who appeared to scrutinize her.

"God have mercy," she whispered, hastily averting her eyes and threading through the crowd. Panic surged as footsteps approached. A single shout from the gentleman could seal her fate. Eleanor veered at the nearest corner, venturing into unfamiliar byways until she found herself trapped in a dead-end alley.

"Pray pardon my intrusion, my Lady, but those morsels are not rightfully yours. They must be returned to their lawful possessor," a voice piped up from behind.

The abrupt presence startled Eleanor. She turned to face the source of the voice—a young gentleman whose brow furrowed, evidently perplexed by the motivation behind such a morally reprehensible act. Eleanor struggled to suppress a chuckle at her predicament. He was unmistakably of means, a few years her senior. His eyes held the innocence of one unacquainted with suffering, and she silently wished that they might remain unblemished.

"Pardon me, my lord, but I am no lady—rather, a mere girl," Eleanor's voice emerged sharp, lending her a veneer of maturity beyond her years. What, she wondered, did this gentleman expect? That she should apologize and gracefully return to the baker, acknowledging her transgression?

"No doubt, you are a lady. Be aware that such a transgression is subject to the law. If you are willing to compensate the honest vendor, I shall attest to your character."

The day had taken an unexpected turn, yet Eleanor was convinced she had reached her limit. He was utterly misguided.

"Are you mad?" she nearly shouted, nearly startling herself. He was so naive she almost felt a pang of sympathy. He failed to comprehend the absurdity of his proposition. But it was not his fault, Eleanor reflected; he had been sheltered from the specter of injustice.

His demeanour seemed ruffled by her reaction as Eleanor approached. Towering above her, his deep-set eyes and and slightly tousled dark hair stood in stark contrast to her evident frustration.She stifled her anger, acknowledging that he was right; her theft constituted an injustice. But she had no choice.

"Extend your benevolent word, my lord," she seethed, her gaze locking with his, her words dripping with acerbic dryness. "Will you vouch for me after I've been flogged and condemned to the hangman's noose?"

"I shall never permit such an atrocity! I comprehend the concern and can pledge that no harm shall befall upon you," his voice resonated with indignation. Were the circumstances less dire, Eleanor might have smiled. He still clung to ideals of justice—how could she blame him?

"I shall refrain from reiterating myself" Eleanor began, only to be interrupted by his swift rejoinder, "Allow me to introduce myself,  my name is Noah."

"I will not repeat thyself, my lord " Eleanor retorted, her voice laced with urgency. "Let us merely erase this encounter from memory. I shall depart with the bread, and you may resume to your duties. Rest assured; your disapproving gaze cannot outshine the agony I bear with each stolen morsel. Herein lies our divergence. If your virtues make you honorable, my transgressions fuel my survival."

With that, Eleanor turned swiftly and fled, leaving behind another fragment of her essence. For their sake, she would persist.

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Welcome to A Pledge of Survival ! 

I hope that you will enjoy this story as much as I love writing it. There is still many aspects of Eleanor and Noah characters that I'm working on, but I will try to give them as much depth as possible. 

I couldn't help but gather in this story some of my favourite tropes ( many more to come ... ) while making sure that this story is historically accurate. 

Also note that English is not my first language and you will probably find some mistakes, don't hesitate to correct me ! 

Should I give you a clue of what my first language is ? Let's see... its one of the hardest language to learn and is very popular ? You might also find a hint in my super ( lazy) username ( °-°) 

See you !