Prolog
May, 1859. Anastasia Bell-Linton, a woman 16 years of age wondered the streets looking down out the damp and dismal cobble stones, taking in to the musky smell of urine being thrown from the high windows. "So, this is London?" She quietly questioned herself, throwing her dark red hair over her shoulder and attempting to get out of the clumps of stammering people making their way around the busily-over crowed streets. No matter how small she made her self, it seemed almost impossible to get though the sweaty crowd of mingling people.
"Anyone for a crate of milk?" was the loudest voice over the bussing from the bodies around the young woman. There were things , such things a young woman should never see, yet, she took them in her stride, the smell of urine became thicker the closer she got to the end of the street. Men in black outfits, gloves and knee high boots were shuffling towards the piles of soil that crowed the small street.
"'Ello, me beauty. Fancy a fun night?" a rather drunk man asked the young Anastasia, she turned on the spot, she was suddenly more scared than she'd ever been.
"I-No I-" Anastasia didn't have time to reply, the man had grabbed her arm and brought her close to him, the small leaving his mouth was vile, rotting teeth and milk, coming from the bottom of his gut. The stench made her heave, she pulled away from the fully grown man with all her might and ran, she ran to the only place she felt safe, a small tree beside a little lake, she huddled up into a tight ball and slowly cried herself to sleep as she had done countless times before.
