I stared at the building before me, the screams coming from inside were deafening. 

Do I have to do this?

Yes. Now go. 

I took a step forward. The stench of vomit and death flooded my nose.  It made me want to vomit, but that's why I'm here in the first place. 

What if they cut open my stomach? I will have to be screaming while men stare at my insides! 

And what if I die? I cannot. I promised not to.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," Emily, a maid who was assigned to accompany me, said.

Yes, ginger beer should do the work.

Her words were the last straw, I turned around and began walking away from the house of death.

 My footsteps echoed through the air, loud enough to reach her ears.

She followed behind me. "So we are returning?"

I looked at her in confusion. "Of course."

Her face became sullen. 

"What is it?" I asked.

"I do not get outings often... Do you mind if we return later?"

Well...must I?

It does save me a trip.

"No. We'll meet at the square when you are done?"

"Yes! Thank you, Miss Allen," Emily smiled brightly.

With a curt nod, I turned around and walked in the opposite direction. I wandered for a bit before arriving at Dorset Street. I looked at the street before me.

The street was filthy with faeces, urine and vomit. A vile smell hung in the hair. People were covered in mud and grime, some of whom were staring at me like hungry wolves. 

I turned around and started walking again. I walked for a little longer before arriving at an abandoned house. The walls were crumbling, there were holes on top of windowsills, some broken.

A few people were wandering the streets, some holding babies. Some even wore the same clothes as the people I saw earlier.

Some were sitting on the ground crying, others were yelling and cursing in anger. A man passed by me, carrying an old man. The man's skin was grey and white. His eyes were dull, empty and lifeless.

"I don't see anything good happening here," one of them muttered.

This place was a death trap.

But I wasn't fazed. I strode, my back straight not showing any fear or disgust. I was used to this.

I made my way into the house and pushed open the door. Smoke was billowing out from the entrance and I could feel the temperature rise. The walls had begun to crumble apart.

There was a staircase. I started descending it. The smoke got heavier as I went down, making me tear up. The rhythmic beating of one metal against another filled my ears. I walked in the direction of the sound. The further I went in, the hotter it became. 

Finally, I reached the end. The dark basement was lit by the fire in the furnace. A weak man stood in front of red iron, beating it into shape. 

I cleared my throat. 

He spun around, surprised.

"Miss Allen?"

I nodded. "Is it ready?"

"Yes, lass. I'll get it, go up." Michael, the blacksmith replied.

I obeyed him and went upstairs. Soon he came up, holding a delicate bracelet. It is beautiful with precious stones and lovely handiwork that shine in the dim light and has a charming allure that's hard to resist. However, beneath its alluring façade lies a deadly secret-something that cannot be detected by even the most astute eye.

The bracelet hides a compact mechanism that is triggered by a careful twist of the wrist. A sudden click exposes a tiny yet lethal needle, hidden beneath the glittering surface of the bracelet. As the needle emerges from the snug hiding place, it glints menacingly in the light, betraying the true nature of this mesmerizing accessory. Few would suspect the bracelet's true purpose- a dangerous defence mechanism as deadly as a viper's fangs.

I smiled and handed him a pound. "I will need you to make another set when this one wears out."

"Okay."

I looked at him grinning at the shilling. He then helped me wear the bracelet.

I gave him a short nod and walked out.  As I strolled along the road, a terrible smell invaded my nostrils. I didn't bother to check where it's coming from. All the odours are so similar to each other, that you would eventually lose track of the source if it hadn't been for the distinct smell.

I paused as a person entered my field of vision. Standing with a man dressed in rags, he had dark hair and was dressed in a simple and clean white shirt and trousers, and a cape with a hood that covered his face. But one could discern at a glance that this man did not belong here. 

He walked away from the man in rags, toward me, looking up as if the sky could offer him answers. The wind was blowing strongly, which seemed to annoy him. And yet, he remained unmoved.

He had been standing there for a long time. I could tell by the way he held his shoulders.  His hands trembled slightly. 

Perhaps feeling my stare, he lifted his head, making eye contact.

Ah, he caught me. 

I held his gaze. His presence harmonized with the surroundings. Not many are capable of that. 

There was something about these hidden eyes. There was a depth inexplicable. An aura of death hung around him in layers, making me want to peel them off and unravel them, along with his flawless pale skin. Would the aura still be present when he would be nothing but a shell? 

His gaze dropped, but his posture relaxed slightly. He took a few more steps closer. My heart beat faster as his breathing became more pronounced. His adam's apple bounced as he swallowed. I touched the handle of the needle. I want to slice that throat. Cut him open and uncover his insides. Bathing him in death.

What am I thinking?

I came to my senses.  My ears burned with shame, and I briskly walked past, trying to appear nonchalant.

It wasn't until I was out of Dorset street that I exhaled.

 Who was that man? 

I shook my head and started towards the square. It does not matter. I will not be seeing him again.

***

I stared at the bloody Eve on the floor. Her uniform had been thrown aside and she sat there, her body covered in stabs. The blood splattered her face and stained her white petticoats. One side of her blonde hair had fallen loose. Her lips had opened in a silent scream; her eyes wide open staring at me in resentment, her chest slowly rising and falling. Blood continued to pour from her body. Tears stained her face. 

What happened while I was gone?

"Myra, you are here." 

I turned to find Charlotte who held a knife stained with blood, smiling.

Oh lord. Not again.

"Good evening, milady." I bowed.

"You, get out." Charlotte snapped looking at Eve.

Eve gathered her uniform and walked out, leaving a trail of blood behind her. She was still in her petticoat, how embarrassing.

Once the door closed, Charlotte gazed at me.  "You must have been surprised."

I kept my eyes on the floor, not answering. Sometimes, silence was the best answer one can give.

"You see, Mama told me I cannot finish them. It is too risky in Leinchaster. Since the police got more authority. So I was sad, how else would I punish these wenches? Then I had a thought, punishing doesn't mean I have to kill, there are other ways to do it." She grinned, her eyes shining, looking like a kid with a new toy.

Oh. I should not leave the mansion before my leisure time from now. Why does she act up when I am absent?

Charlotte approached me and caressed the sides of my cheek, bringing me back to reality. "And so you returned. You are such an obedient girl, aren't you, Myra?"

"Yes, milady." The word slipped between my lips without a second thought, almost involuntary.

"You must find a better replacement when you leave. You know, the girl ripped my dress, and God, my hair suffered."

It is going to be hard for Eve, is it not? Poor child.