• Rain pounding on leather, the empty drone of a midnight downpour, the drenched city engulfed if the moon's silver sheen. The whole town was bleak, hollow, glowing hauntingly in the winter night. This was no gentle winter, however. No snow danced from the heavens, but instead freezing rain that stung and thrashed, scouring the land in its bitter cold, sparing neither man nor nature.
    Almeena sat helplessly below, hunched silently in the dancing downpour. The sting of the storm had become dull, unnoticeable to her—her storm, her coldness, was not without, but within. To her, a night such as this was nothing new.
    She had been on her own for the past five years, since she was fourteen years of age, completely alone without friends or family. The former removed by hands of misfortune, the ladder made an impossibility through circumstance—superstition.
    -
    Her streak of misfortune began at birth when her mother, already ill at the time of childbirth, died from the complications of delivery. As such, she was raised alone by her father.
    She found it peculiar, yet somehow honorable, that he never sought another wife. On the surface, she thought it was because he was too busy, but she sensed some sort of unwavering commitment to his departed love, one which he would not break for another woman. The death had his wife had made him quiet and listless; a mere shadow of the man he was previous. How happy had she made him? She would often think. The death of her mother had felt like a shadow, a permanent eclipse of her happiness. From the womb she was a harbinger of misfortune, and to her, the blame of her mother's death was something she could never separate herself from, despite her father's objections.
    Her father, her sole guardian, friend, and mentor was a talented, yet poor locksmith. They shared a small shack in the slums of Bellton, the largest city in the kingdom of Alia. From this shack, her father ran a failing locksmithing business, his failure wasn't born of his ability nor lack thereof, it was of circumstance. His efforts were doomed because of his status; not many reputable business are operated in the heart of a slum.
    Regardless, he choose for his daughter to be his successor, to strive in the domain of his failure. Through the countless nights of hammering away above the glow of the forge, she became as skilled as her father. For a time, things were looking up for the two. Almeena worked side-by-side with her father as an equal, until one day, he fell mysteriously ill.
    In the year that led up to her father's death, Almeena worked as hard as she could to maintain the business and keep a roof over their heads. When this disease claimed his life when Almeena was fourteen, she found herself penniless, hopeless, and completely alone. She couldn't afford a service for him, either.
    Dishonored and without any money, she was forced to spend the upcoming years living in the city streets, squeezing a living out of the kindness of others and whatever she could scavenge for herself, food or otherwise.
    -
    The freezing downpour was not the only threat. Looming over her, like a dark cloud, was the constant danger of the city watch. Ever since the city had ruled vagrancy a crime, the watchmen would scour the city every night, hoping to drag some urchins to some nightmarish dungeon, to be bound and forgotten. She was well aware of the city's prison, (to call it such is generous) and it's infamous reputation of torture and execution and she did all she could to avoid dying in obscurity within its depths.
    From her rooftop perch she could clearly make out a group of six watchmen, the armed police force that patrolled the city streets. Beneath their crimson tabards, their chainmail and swords gleamed in the moonlight. They weren't carrying torches tonight, due to the rain. A shiver shot up Almeena's spine, a tinge of fear embraced her mind; perhaps they knew she was here?
    In a long, fluid motion, Almeena moved to a prone position, tentatively observing their movements. She hoped they would change course, but they still approached her. Her heart began racing, her lungs growing frantic, she knew the time for flight was soon upon her.
    “I see one! Up there!” a shout pierced the night's drone. One of the watchmen was pointing right at her, and they began sprinting toward her. She was three stories up, too high to jump from, but not high enough to be safe. A maze of scaffolding ran up the side the building which she was on, and she knew that the watchmen could easily climb it. She had been prepared for an escape such as this.
    Almeena whipped around and began sprinting. She was running parallel to the street, along a row of buildings only separated a very small, infrequent alleyway. She cleared the small gap between the next rooftop, stumbling on the wet stonework. She didn't lose balance and kept running, looking over the edge to see two watchmen following her from the street. Continuing down her path, she cleared a larger gap to a shorter building. Landing, she rolled to conserve her speed.
    The roof of this building quickly build into a sharp incline, like an inverted “v”. She couldn't simply run now, she had to climb, driving her numb, soaking hands into the thatching to get a grip. Clearing the top, she began sliding down the opposite end. She rose to a stand as she slid down, her heels digging into the thatching as is ripped away . The decline ended at a sheer drop, a 2 story fall to the wet pavement. Not fatal, but still dangerous. The time to jump to the next rooftop was coming up, and she had to time it just right, or fall to the mercy of her pursuers. She knew that the watchmen had to be hot on her trail right now, and she could still see two monitoring her from the ground.
    She leaped for the next rooftop, mud and straw cascading to the cobblestone beneath her. Her body slammed into the wall, but she had her arms over the ledge. She was struggling, flailing for anything firm to seize so that she could pull herself up. Sliding back, she began to panic until her hands met the stone wall. Pulling with all of her strength, she muscled herself onto the roof. The woodwork below her felt flimsy, and she felt uneasy, but safe. They can't make it up here. She thought. But just as she felt the furthest from harm, her newest fear became reality. She couldn't react fast enough, and fell through as the boards gave way. She remembered seeing the moon eclipsed by darkness, then a loud crash, and then... nothing.