The Hunger Within

01. A Night Alone

Rain poured relentlessly from the dark, brooding sky as young Avery hurried down the narrow cobblestone streets, her small feet slipping now and then as she ran. She cursed under her breath, wishing she had chosen the nearer market to steal from instead of venturing so far. Beneath her worn, threadbare raincoat, she clutched two apples and a smoked pork knuckle wrapped in cloth—her haul for the day, and a good one at that.
Since she had turned eight, her father had started rationing the food, their meager income as a coachman barely enough to sustain them both. Hunger was a constant companion, gnawing at her belly as she made her way home. When she finally reached the familiar worn-down building, she checked the front door. Still locked.
“Father must still be out,” she whispered to herself, glancing warily around the empty street before slipping into the narrow alleyway beside the house. From there, she made her way into the inner courtyard, rain splattering against the cobblestones beneath her feet. She reached the open window she had left behind earlier that morning and, with practiced ease, climbed inside.
The small apartment she and her father called home was on the second floor, accessible only by a creaky, musty staircase. The building itself was as tired and worn as its inhabitants, the scent of damp wood and mildew permeating the air. There wasn’t much to steal—nothing of value, at least—so the door was always left unlocked. The lack of security was a reminder of how little they had.
As soon as she entered, Avery carefully placed the apples and the pork knuckle on the rickety kitchen table before peeling off her soaked raincoat. The coat was heavy with water, almost toppling the chair she draped it over. She sighed, glancing around the dim room, the flickering twilight casting long shadows across the walls.
Her fingers fumbled through the drawer, searching for matches. A wave of relief washed over her when she found a few tucked away in the corner. Though the idea of lighting candles alone unnerved her—it always felt eerie, like the shadows came alive in the flickering glow—she had no choice. The darkness was creeping in fast, and she needed light, even if only a small, flickering flame to keep the shadows at bay.
With one, two, three tries, the match finally flared to life, a tiny flame sputtering to existence. As the fragile light kissed the candle wick, the room was bathed in a soft, warm glow. Shadows danced on the walls, flickering in rhythm with the flame, giving the modest kitchen a brief moment of comfort. Avery’s heart swelled with a small sense of pride as she unpacked her spoils, carefully unwrapping the cloth around the pork knuckle.
The rich, smoky scent of the meat filled the air, making her stomach rumble. It had been weeks since she had been fortunate enough to get her hands on something so precious. Her fingers, nimble and quick from countless days of thievery, had served her well today. The sight of the meat—glorious compared to the watery soup and stale bread they had been surviving on—was enough to make her mouth water. For a moment, she could almost forget the hunger that had gnawed at her for days, savoring the thought of the meal she would finally enjoy.

As Avery ate, her gaze drifted across the dimly lit kitchen and into the adjoining bedchamber. "It's always so dark when Father isn't home," she thought, her eyes lingering on the shadowy corners of the small space. The house felt emptier, colder, when it was just her. "Hopefully he'll be home soon," she murmured softly, an uneasy feeling creeping over her at the thought of going to bed alone once more.
She licked her fingers clean, savoring the salty residue left by the pork knuckle, more satisfied than she had been in weeks. With a small sigh, she began tidying up, knowing that leaving a mess would only lead to another scolding. Father didn’t tolerate disorder—especially not now, when every little thing seemed to irritate him more than before. Once the kitchen was in order, Avery made her way to her bed, pulling out a small, well-worn book from underneath the mattress.
It was a relic from better days, a memento from a time when she had been able to attend school. Now, any money they had went toward her father’s medicine. She winced as she recalled the day she saw the fresh wound on his leg, still angry and bruised where a horse had kicked him at work. His body was failing him, and they both knew it.

Shaking off the memory, Avery opened the book—a textbook, though one she had read many times. Its pages were filled with intricate pictures and drawings, and despite the dry academic tone, it still excited her. She had dreamed of studying at Aldermere Academy, of delving into the world of magical creatures and beasts. But that dream felt distant and unattainable now. Magic and education were reserved for those with magical blood. For a human like her, such dreams were little more than forbidden fantasies.

A soft huffing sound outside made her pause. She snapped the book shut as the clicking and rattling of a carriage came to a halt just beneath her window. Her heart quickened.

Was it her father? Or worse, someone else?

With quick, careful steps, Avery hurried to the window, peeking out cautiously. She knew better than to be seen. If the carriage didn’t belong to her father, it was safer to remain hidden.