***

In that god awful moment Sarah became an adult at only the age of seven. Sometimes tragic experiences work like that. A maelstrom of emotion envelopes you and somehow you have to survive, become strong and independent.

The morning they received the letter she had left in a desperate attempt to find her sister and father, in complete denial over their deaths.

How could the world be so depraved that even the seasons, the beautiful gems of nature, be capable of murder? How?

Sarah ran down the obscenely picturesque streets, her hair flowing behind her like a golden flame. The world's beauty seemed to be screaming at her, calling out the scandalousness of her situation.

The letter held a small address at the bottom. Sarah endeavoured to remember it, but her mind was clouded and insecure. Everything she knew was reforming and her mind wanted no part in this suddenly very real, new world.

In a transient thought, the name of the street returned to her: Fleete Lane.

At the first house she stopped and for a minute she just stared. The mossy green carpet that hid underneath the cobblestones swam underfoot, taking over her ludicrous, grief-stricken vision.

Sarah could, at brief intervals, hear the whispers of a conversation being held down the street. A woman was throwing a tirade at an abrasively composed gentleman.

'So what do ye plan to do with them?' The woman shouted at him.

'What do you expect?' The man asked in a cold manner.

'Well, I expect ye to do something for them! How can...'

At that moment Sarah zoned out, consumed by the task of staring at her now hazy surroundings.

The voices began to draw closer before one of them said something in her face, directly. Although Sarah had come out with bold intentions, every single sense was obscured by the prospect of finally finding out if the tragedy was true. Did she even wish to know?

After the stranger had been speaking for several moments, she finally gained a rugged form of consciousness.

'Stupid girl...' the formerly mentioned man muttered.

He tugged on the collar of his clothing, coughing expectantly. The outfit was beautifully ornate, covered in crimson and gold embroideries that clad the pretentious garments.

Sarah was brought to her senses by a small slap on the cheek. 'Girl! You are being spoken to!'

The man was interrupted by the woman behind him. 'Get away from 'er!'

He stepped back reluctantly. 'So, what are you doing on my front doorstep?'

Sarah looked behind her, reading the sign that hung on the door. 'Magister house, the valued home of Mr Arthright, business man.'

'Mr Arthright?' Sarah asked, expectantly.

'Yes, my name is Mr Arthright! Now finish your sentence, you time consuming little wench.'

Sarah was oblivious to his comments, purely set on finding her loved ones. 'I'm Sarah Pennyworth. Where's my father?' She paused, waiting for a reply. 'Where's Elizabeth?'

The woman stepped forward, pushing Mr Arthright away before he said or did something harmful.

'I'm afraid they're gone, dear.' She rested a hand on Sarah's shoulder sympathetically.
'They're in a good place now.'

Sarah looked on at the ground, blankly recalling her mother's words.

'I don't think my mother thinks so.'

This time Mr Arthright stepped forward. 'She doesn't, does she? Well, I wish to have a little conversation with your mother.'

The woman glowered back at him but he payed no heed. 'Knowing what I know now, I think perhaps she has overstayed her welcome.'

What will happen to Mrs Pennyworth and her daughter? Find out in the next chapter!

- WordNerd100