The scent of salt and brine hung heavy in the air, a familiar counterpoint to the damp earth that blanketed the graveyard. Years had passed since the night that swallowed her father whole, the night the joyous festival lights had been replaced by flickering torches illuminating the horror of the collapsed mines. Now, where a bustling industry hub once stood, a stark white marble monument rose. It wasn't a single, grand mausoleum, but a collective marker, a cold tribute to the nameless souls claimed by the earth's fury.

Kate, her fiery orange hair pulled back under a worn flat-top hat, knelt before the smooth stone. Her clothes, a collection of breeches, jerkin, and a well-worn cloak, spoke of practicality rather than fashion. In her gloved hand, she held a small bouquet of wildflowers, their fragile beauty a stark contrast to the harsh reality of the graveyard.

"Papa," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper that danced on the salty breeze. "It's been a while. Like another lifetime." She traced a finger along the cool surface, the inscription stark against the white: "Here lie the unknown miners." A sigh escaped her lips, a puff of white in the cool night air. "I miss you, Papa," she continued, her voice catching slightly. "But you wouldn't understand why I do or what I don't do, not with your honest heart and hands." A small chuckle escaped her, a fleeting sound in the stillness.

"It's funny, Papa. Stealing feels... right, somehow. Like finding a treasure hidden in the dark. It's like you find a magnificent vein of ore, just in a different way, you know?" A rustle in her cloak pocket drew her attention. With a smile, she reached inside and pulled out a small orange mouse. "See, Roy agrees!" she chirped, the mouse nuzzling her finger with a soft squeak. "You, Papa, mined for gold and silver, and I, well, I collect trinkets and stuff. A bit different, but the thrill is the same, wouldn't you say?"

A flicker of movement on the periphery of her vision shattered the quiet moment. A cold dread settled in her stomach as a group of constables emerged from the shadows, their faces grim under the flickering light of their lanterns. They were clad in worn leather armor, their hands gripping the shafts of menacing spears and crossbows aimed squarely at her.

"There she is!" one of them bellowed, his voice laced with a mixture of anger and disgust. "Kate, the Abandon! Just stole a pouch of gold from those fancy new immigrants down by the shore!"

Kate's eyes narrowed. "Immigrants?" she echoed, her voice laced with disbelief.

The constable spat on the ground. "Those rich snobs with their fancy clothes and pockets overflowing with gold! This town could use that kind of coin, Kate. We could finally get back on our feet after that blasted mine disaster! But no, you just had to go and scare them all away with your thieving ways!"

"Why?" Kate pressed, her voice a low growl.

The constable sneered. "Because you, Kate, are the reason this town can't move on! You, with your baffling disregard for the law! We lost everything in the mines, Kate. Everything! And now, you've chased away our only chance to rebuild!"

His voice cracked with emotion, a raw anger that mirrored her own. He raised his spear, its tip glinting in the firelight. "This is the end of the line, Kate. Time to pay for your sins!"

The salty tang of the sea intensified as the constables surged forward, their leather armor creaking with each heavy step. Fury contorted their faces, their eyes reflecting the flickering flames of their lanterns like malevolent embers. Kate, a coiled spring poised for action, murmured a final apology to the cold stone beneath her.

"Sorry, Papa," she whispered, the wind whipping her hair across her face.

With a guttural roar, the lead constable, a hulking brute with a face like weathered leather, lunged at her. He thrust his spear forward, the tip aimed at her chest. But Kate, a whirlwind of motion honed by years of survival, was a blur. With a dancer's grace, she dipped beneath the deadly point, her cloak billowing around her. The spear sang harmlessly through the air.

In the same fluid movement, Kate lashed out with her leg, her boot connecting with the constable's shin with a sickening crack. The man howled in pain, his grip on the spear loosening. Before he could recover, Kate snatched the weapon, using the momentum to slam the butt of the spear into his temple with a sickening thud. The constable crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

A surprised yelp came from behind. The constable who had spoken earlier, a wiry man with a cruel glint in his eyes, was mid-leap, aiming to tackle her. Roy, perched on Kate's shoulder, let out a sharp squeak. The sound, a primal alarm, sliced through the chaos. Kate reacted instinctively, dropping low just as the constable slammed into the space where she had been a moment before.

The impact sent both men sprawling. The wiry constable, however, landed right in the path of another constable's crossbow bolt. The unfortunate man let out a strangled cry as the bolt pierced his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

Kate scrambled to her feet, adrenaline coursing through her veins. The remaining constable, his face contorted with rage and frustration, charged at her. He brandished a dagger, its point glinting in the firelight.

"Screw this!" he bellowed, his voice hoarse with fury. "You'll be joining the rest of those terrible people down in hell!"

He lunged at her, the dagger flashing like a viper's strike. But just as the tip was about to find its mark, they stood frozen for a breathless moment, a paint of violence held in suspension. Then, with a surprised grunt, the constable began to topple. Kate realized with a jolt that the dagger hadn't found its mark. It had gotten snagged on her cloak, tearing a deep gash in the fabric but missing her skin entirely.

As the constable fell, Kate wasted no time. She slammed a fist into his stomach, the impact driving the breath from his lungs. He crumpled to the ground with a groan, clutching his gut and gasping for air.

"D-damn you..." he sputtered, his voice weak with pain.

Kate turned back to the graveside without waiting to see if he would rise again. She knelt briefly, placing the wildflowers beside the headstone.

"Sorry, Papa, but I need to get out of here before things get worse," she murmured, the weight of the encounter settling on her shoulders.

With Roy nestled securely on her shoulder, she slipped out of the graveyard, the shadows of the headstones providing a cloak of concealment. As she disappeared into the maze of alleyways, a sense of exhilaration mingled with a dull ache of fear. Back in the safety of the darkness, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small pouch, the one she'd lifted from the unsuspecting immigrant earlier.

"Looks like we're celebrating tonight, Roy," she declared, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Drinks are on me!" The fetid air of the alleyway pinched Kate's nose as she darted between towering buildings, the damp cobblestones slick beneath her nimble feet. The festive lanterns she remembered – their warm glow and joyous laughter – were a distant memory. Now, only the flickering torches of the constables cast an eerie orange light, their shouts echoing off the cold stone walls. Reaching a dead end, Kate pressed herself flat against the wall, her chest heaving. Roy, tucked safely in her pocket, squeaked nervously. "Not that way," she muttered, glancing back at the faint glow of the constables' lanterns.

With a deep breath, she squeezed through a narrow gap between two buildings, emerging into a forgotten corner of the town. Here, the once-proud houses sagged with neglect, their windows boarded shut and paint peeling in long, sad strips. A lone tavern sat precariously on the corner, its crooked sign barely clinging to the rotting wood. It looked like a monument to a forgotten era, a place untouched by the rebuilding efforts that were slowly transforming the rest of the town. A cough escaped Kate's lips. "Roy," she whispered, her voice barely a murmur. Roy, perched on her shoulder, twitched his whiskers. Unlike her, he seemed unfazed by the ominous atmosphere. Perhaps, to him, it was just another dark corner to explore.

"Maybe a trap," she continued, more to herself than the mouse. Roy, ever the optimist, simply shook his head. After all, the place looked abandoned, a perfect haven from the clutches of the constables. Taking a deep breath, Kate steeled her nerves and pushed open the creaking door.

The stale air inside was thick with dust motes dancing in a single shaft of moonlight that pierced through a hole in the roof. The bar, once polished wood, was now dull and sticky, littered with empty mugs and spilled ale. A few patrons huddled in the shadows, their faces obscured by the gloom. This was no haven; it was a den for the town's outcasts, a place where whispers were exchanged like currency.

Kate had never set foot in this tavern before, and a knot of apprehension tightened in her stomach. "Roy," she murmured again, her voice barely a squeak. "Right," she muttered, forcing a smile. Rain, she thought, the image flashing in her mind. If it was a trap, everything would vanish like rain. With that thought, she pushed forward, her boots crunching on the dust-covered floor.

A figure emerged from behind the bar, his face hidden in the shadows. His voice, strangely kind, echoed in the cavernous space that is almost alien to his tone. "Hello, What can I do for you today?"

"Just a drink and a bite, good sir," Kate replied, taking a seat on a rickety stool. As the man leaned closer, the moonlight glinted off bottles behind him. He squinted at her, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You look familiar," he said, reaching for a thick leather-bound book on a nearby shelf. The book creaked open, revealing a crudely drawn rendering of a young woman with fiery orange hair – Kate's wanted poster.

Panic clawed at her throat. "No, sir, you must be mistaken," she stammered, a bead of sweat trickling down her temple. The man's gaze held hers. "Right..." he awkwardly drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slammed the book shut. A moment of agonizing silence stretched on, filled only by the drips of a leaky roof and the nervous squeak of Roy.

Then, with a sigh, the man turned away and began pouring her drink. "Take a seat over there," he mumbled, gesturing towards a row of unoccupied tables. A wave of relief washed over Kate, so intense it almost made her knees buckle. "Why there?" she asked, surprised by her newfound audacity. One of the patrons, a burly dockworker, was leaving, his mug held aloft in a drunken salute. The bartender snatched the mug with a practiced flick of his wrist, his voice gruff.

"Stools aren't sturdy," he muttered, disappearing behind the bar to clean the glass.

Relief mixed with shame in Kate's gut. She had misjudged the situation, her paranoia leading her astray. With a mumbled apology, she gathered her meager belongings and moved to a table, offering a piece of bread to Roy who squeaked his thanks. For a moment, all was well. The bread, stale but filling, staved off the gnawing hunger in her stomach. The drink, a concoction of dubious origin, promised a warm buzz. But Kate had forgotten one crucial detail – her notoriously low tolerance for alcohol.

With each gulp, the world seemed to tilt a little further on its axis. The voices in the tavern blurred into an indistinguishable hum. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and before she could even register the warning tingle in her toes, she was falling

The world spun wildly around Kate, a kaleidoscope of blurred faces and flickering candlelight. The ale, deceptively smooth, had hit her with the force of a rogue wave. One moment she was sitting at the table, the next, the floor seemed to rush up to meet her. Roy, the ever-faithful companion, squeaked in alarm, his tiny body tumbling through the air before landing with a soft thud on a nearby sack.

Disoriented and woozy, Kate struggled to her feet, her limbs heavy and unresponsive. She stumbled towards the tavern door, its outline wavering like a mirage in the desert. The cool night air slapped her face, a momentary shock to her addled senses. The alleyway stretched before her, a labyrinth of inky shadows, the stench of rotting refuse replacing the stale air of the tavern.

A flicker of movement in the darkness caught her eye. A lone figure slumped against a wall, his head resting on his chest. With a drunken curiosity, Kate lurched closer. He was a man, weathered and worn, his clothes stained and torn. A scraggly beard adorned his chin, and his face was etched with the lines of a hard life.

He clutched a small object in his hand – a gleaming red bead, catching the faint moonlight. It pulsed with an otherworldly light, an irresistible lure to Kate's clouded mind. The urge to possess it, to add it to her collection of trinkets, overwhelmed her like a tidal wave.

Ignoring her unsteady legs and Roy's frantic squeaks, she lurched forward. The ground seemed to tilt beneath her, her steps a drunken dance. As she reached the man, she saw him closer – the grime on his face, the hollowness in his eyes. His ragged breathing was the only sign of life.

Suddenly, Kate's foot snagged on a loose cobblestone. With a clumsy yelp, she tumbled forward, landing squarely on top of the startled man. The red bead clattered to the ground, rolling a few inches away.

The man bolted upright, a strangled cry escaping his lips. His eyes, wide and bloodshot, met Kate's. "The hell are you doing, madam?" he bellowed, his voice laced with a dangerous mix of anger and confusion.

Kate, still half-conscious, blinked at him owlishly. "Doing my darn business is what I'm doing," she mumbled, her words slurred and thick.

A flicker of recognition crossed the man's face. He squinted at her, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hey, madam," he drawled, his voice losing some of its edge. "You oddly look kind of similar to a person I warned decades ago... Are you related to..." He struggled to recall the name, a frustrating memory just out of reach.

"Russle? Hades?" he finally blurted out, frustration tinging his voice. Something about Kate, perhaps the fiery orange hair, sparked a memory deep within him.

But before he could piece it all together, Kate exploded in a fit of drunken defiance. "Those names are just false!" she shouted, her voice surprisingly loud in the still night. "It's Rusty, my father!" she declared, pointing clumsily at herself. "And I am Kate Anderson, the thief of this... weird place I call home!"

Roy, perched precariously on Kate's shoulder, squeaked in protest, clearly not a fan of her outburst. This proclamation, however, had an unintended audience. The bartender, alerted by the commotion, peeked out the tavern door, his face etched with dawning recognition. He knew exactly who Kate was, and the trouble she had courted.

Blinded by her inebriated state, Kate didn't notice the bartender slip away. Instead, she focused on the man sprawled on the ground, his face a mask of conflicting emotions.

"And I, the thief, will rob you right now with this red bead I found in your poor pockets!" she slurred, making a clumsy grab for the bead. But the alcohol had won, and her hand flopped limply to the ground.

Roy, sensing the danger, scurried down her arm and let out a series of frantic squeaks. The man, however, had become a cauldron of rage.

"You're the kid of that Rusty!?" he roared, his voice thick with venom. "That father of yours made me go on a guilt trip of being an alcoholic! And now I see you, the daughter, a thief to boot!"

Kate, struggling to stay upright, stared at him, her head spinning. "Why though?" she mumbled, her voice thick with confusion. "My papa did nothing wrong."

The man's face twisted into a grotesque mask of anger. "Why?" The man's roar echoed through the narrow alley, raw emotion ripping through the night air. It sent shivers down Kate's spine, a jolt of icy clarity momentarily piercing the fog of drunkenness. As the echoes faded, Kate felt a surge of adrenaline and a heightened sense of alertness, her mind snapping into focus.

"I told your papa you were dead!" he shrieked, his voice cracking with primal grief that made Kate flinch. "And the look on his face... God, the look on his face! A man who never got to see his child grow old dies with no cause."

His words ripped the ground from under Kate. Her father, the ever-optimistic Papa, was consumed by a despair she never knew existed. The image sent a wave of nausea crashing through her, a counterpoint to the spinning chaos in her head.

"I never loved this poison of a drink," the man continued, his voice raw and hoarse. "But knowing something terrible had happened to you, a little babe barely breathing her first breaths in this world, well..." He trailed off, gesturing vaguely to the space beneath him. "Six feet under. That's where I thought you were."

A tremor ran through his hand, the half-empty bottle clutched tightly. "And then your father died. Like a cruel reminder of the tragic end, I thought you all faced." His voice dropped to a low growl. "Yet here you are, sprawled on the dirty floor, a wannabe thief after a trinket – a souvenir of the whole damn mess."

He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out the bottle with a flourish. The murky brown liquid sloshed precariously near the rim. With a grimace, he took a long, desperate swig, the sound echoing like a death rattle in the stillness of the night.

"You know what?" he spat, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "The guilt? It's gone. Vanished. Your father, bless his naive soul, for all his good intentions, sent me down this path. And now seeing you... you, the living embodiment of the memory that's haunted me for years..."

He smashed the bottle against the rough brick wall with a sickening crunch. Shards of glass rained down, glinting like malevolent eyes in the dim moonlight. One shard, larger than the rest, remained clutched in his hand, its sharp edge catching the faint light.

"Irony at its finest," he rasped, his voice laced with bitter amusement. "You, the daughter of a man who never stole a penny in his life, living as a thief. And now..." He trailed off, his gaze hardening.

He gripped the shard of glass with a white-knuckled ferocity, the grudge he held twisting his features into a mask of rage.

"It's time to end this, madam," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "For all the trouble you've caused me, for reminding me of the life I thought I lost..."

Suddenly, the sound of pounding footsteps echoed from the direction of the tavern. A single, fat raindrop splattered on Kate's cheek, followed by another, and another. As if in slow motion, the world seemed to slow down around her. The shard of glass, the man's twisted face, the approaching sounds – all blurred into a terrifying tableau. Fear, cold and primal, clawed at her chest...

A searing pain erupted in Kate's chest as the shard of glass plunged into her flesh. The air seemed to vanish from her lungs, replaced by a burning tightness that stole her breath. Each ragged gasp tasted metallic, the coppery tang of blood thick in her mouth. Disbelief flickered through her clouded mind. He wasn't aiming for her arm or her leg – he was aiming for the lung, with the broken bottle indirectly stabbing the heart that pounded a frantic rhythm beneath her tattered cloak. A horrifying realization dawned – the man wasn't just angry, he was trying to destroy her, not quickly, but with a slow, agonizing suffocation.

The world narrowed to a single point – the jagged shard protruding from her chest, a grotesque mockery of the stolen bead that lay forgotten on the cobblestones. The man ripped the makeshift weapon free, a sickening gurgle escaping Kate's lips as fresh blood welled from the wound. Just as the man raised his hand for another blow, a shout tore through the night. The tavern door burst open, spilling a shaft of golden light into the alleyway. The bartender, his face etched with a mixture of horror and urgency, stood silhouetted against the warm glow.

"She's here! Kate Anderson is here!" he bellowed, his voice ragged with exertion. A group of constables emerged beside him, their expressions a mix of shock and morbid curiosity as they took in the brutal scene. But before they could react, the bartender lunged, grabbing the attacker's arm in a vice-like grip.

"What in the everloving heck are you doing?!" he roared, his voice raw with a desperate plea. The man, his face contorted with a mix of rage and manic desperation, spun around, his voice hoarse. "This bastard, this madam, is the daughter of the good-intentioned man I warned as a child! She's right here, alive, mocking me with her existence!" "What man?" the bartender demanded, his grip tightening on the attacker's arm.

"This thief's father, Rusty, that's what!" the man shrieked, his voice cracking with emotion.

The bartender stared at Kate, his face pale. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, "If you want her to suffer, then fine. But don't make yourself a criminal too! You're crossing a line you can't come back from!" The man shook his fist, his eyes wild. "I already have! She's going to die in the street anyway, what difference does it make?" The bartender closed his eyes, a silent prayer escaping his lips. Kate, her vision blurring at the edges, struggled to draw in a single, precious breath.

But amidst the chaos, a new voice emerged. One of the constables, his voice laced with apathy and a twisted sense of morality, spoke up. "What if we just leave? We don't count this as a crime, this thief I heard did something damaging to our town's reputation. This thief will be forgotten in a week, a month. She's no big deal, just another petty criminal that the people want her gone. We leave, and she dies, win-win. She goes to be with..." he trailed off, searching for the right word.

"Her Papa?" the man finished the sentence, a flicker of morbid satisfaction crossing his face. The constable chuckled. "Yeah, her Papa. And we get to go back to our lives, pretend this whole thing never happened. This place is creepy anyway, too abandoned to care about."

The man seemed to contemplate this, his anger simmering down. But before he could respond, the bartender spoke, his voice trembling. "But my bar..." The man looked him dead in the eye. "Move on," he said. And just like that, they were gone. The man, The constables, and the bartender, all vanish into the night, leaving behind a trail of callous indifference and the chilling echo of laughter mocking her dead father's name by the ones who don't know him.

Alone in the grimy alleyway, Kate felt a new wave of pain, sharper and more intense. But then, a strange sensation washed over her. The pain receded, replaced by a faint, but steady pressure.

Gasping, she looked down and saw a sight that defied logic. Roy, her tiny companion, was lodged in the wound, his body contorted in an impossible position. But his eyes shone with determination, his small form somehow holding the wound closed, allowing Kate to breathe once again.

"Clever Roy," she rasped, a wave of gratitude washing over her, Despite being injured the injuries being stabilized by her furry friend, Kate discovered that the man who had stabbed her had accidentally dropped the strange bead at the scene. Despite her pain, she managed to pick it up, inspecting the bead revealed it had one harsh crack. 

But the relief was short-lived. She knew this was just a salvation. She needed a healer, and fast. With a surge of determination, Kate forced herself to her feet. Ignoring the throbbing pain in her chest, she stumbled out of the alleyway, her only thought to find help before it was too late.

The rain hammered down on Kate, each drop a tiny explosion on her raw skin. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each one a searing reminder of the gaping wound in her chest. Blood, slick and metallic, trailed down her clothes, leaving a crimson stain on the cobblestones.

Panic clawed at her throat. She stumbled through the deserted streets, the flickering gaslights casting grotesque shadows that danced around her. Every building she approached seemed to mock her desperation. One clinic, its windows dark and unwelcoming, bore a sign that read "No Vacancy." Another, brightly lit but filled with the brim with patients, Kate refused the entry, the moment they recognized her, god knows what happens. Her infamy, a double-edged sword, now sliced her young fate.

The rain intensified, a relentless torrent that threatened to drown her. Roy, nestled against her wound, squeaked in distress. His tiny body, once a source of comfort, now felt like a dead weight, a constant reminder of her fading strength.

With each labored breath, the world narrowed. Her vision swam, the edges blurring into a kaleidoscope of grays and blacks. The metallic tang of blood filled her senses, a sickening sweetness that coated her tongue. Her legs, once light and nimble, turned to lead, each step an agonizing effort.

Then, a whimper escaped Roy. He tumbled to the ground, his orange torch of a fur slick with rain. Kate gasped a choked sound that tore at her raw throat. Panic surged through her, a cold dread that eclipsed even the searing pain. Her vision tunneled, the world shrinking to a pinprick of light.

She stumbled forward, her arms outstretched, blindly searching for purchase. Her fingers brushed against rough brick, the familiar texture sending a jolt through her. Dimly, through the haze, she recognized the building – her old home when she was in her youth and once a comfort of her entire life.

A sliver of hope, fragile and desperate, flickered within her. Ms. Clover, her once-mother, might be there. Maybe, just maybe, she would help.

With a final burst of strength, Kate propelled herself towards the door. Her legs buckled, and she crumpled to the ground, the rough cobbles biting into her skin. Her breath came in shallow rasps, each one a struggle for survival.

"I guess this is the end of the line, Roy," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the drumming rain. "At least... I could see... p..pa..pa..."

The world dissolved into a swirling vortex of colors. Her head rolled to the side, her body growing cold with each passing moment. The only sign of life was Roy, his tiny claws frantically scratching at the unyielding door.

When no answer came, a primal instinct took over. He bit down on Kate's arm, the sharp pain jolting him momentarily. But it was her growing coldness that terrified him. With a strength born of desperation, he slammed his tiny body against the door, a weak but insistent knock lost in the cacophony of the storm.

Just as hope began to dwindle, the door creaked open. A gasp escaped the figure silhouetted in the doorway. Shock, raw and unadulterated, etched itself on their face as they took in the sight before them – Kate, a bloody mess, slumped lifelessly on the doorstep, and a frantic orange blur whimpering at her side.

Without hesitation, the figure scooped Kate into their arms, her body a featherweight in their grasp. Roy, sensing a flicker of warmth, darted inside his tiny form a streak of orange against the dark interior jumping to Kate's dimmed hair and hoping for life for Kate in this Life-or-death situation.

Cold. That was all Kate felt – a chilling emptiness that stretched on forever. No light, no sound, no sensation. It was a suffocating darkness, a void devoid of touch or taste. Panic clawed at her throat, a primal fear that she might be trapped in a nightmare version of hell. She tried to scream, to call out, but no sound emerged. Tears, she wished she could cry, but even that simple release was denied her.

Suddenly, a voice pierced the oppressive silence: "Katey Plum?"

The sound was a lifeline, sharp and unexpected. A jolt ran through her, a spark of awareness igniting in the endless black. Then, the sensation flooded back in a torrent. Light, blinding and harsh, stung her eyes. The metallic tang of blood filled her nostrils. A throbbing pain radiated from her chest, a constant reminder of her injury.

"P...Papa?" she croaked, her voice raspy and weak. Through blurry vision, she saw a figure hovering above her, a familiar face etched with worry. Rusty, her Papa.

Before she could question if she was in hell or heaven, a strange feeling washed over her. A lightness, a sense of being carefree. Her body felt smaller, lighter. "Papa!" she cried out, her voice a child's excited squeal. The world seemed brighter, more vibrant like she was seeing it all for the first time.

Then, searing pain ripped her back to reality. A jolt of agony tore through her chest, and the blissful dream dissolved. Her eyes flew open, and she saw a stranger bent over her, stitching her wound with practiced ease.

"Papa?" she mumbled, dazed and confused. The dream, so vivid and real, still clung to her.

The stranger jumped, startled by her sudden awakening. He was tall and slender, with a handsome face and an air of quiet competence. But something seemed off – his masculine features held a hint of femininity, a subtle softness, wearing a bishop sleeve that showed his shoulders, High-waisted pants, and a Cravat.

"Stranger can you go relax, I'm trying to save you!" he exclaimed, his voice a baritone tinged with a higher pitch. Kate squinted at him, her vision blurry. "Who are you? How did you save me? I thought I was dead."

"I found you unconscious at my doorstep," he explained, his voice calm and soothing. "You were knocking with the last bit of your strength." Kate tried to focus on him, but the details remained hazy. "Your clinic?"

He sighed, a hint of tiredness tinging his voice. "I am Dr. Hydes. Someone brought you here, I never have had a client for months now, and I ended up using my room on you. Not exactly appropriate, but it was the only space available after the rest collected what generations of bio-hazards it collected." As Kate lay on the wooden board while Hydes spoke, Kate's gaze darted around the room. It was familiar, yet different. This had been her childhood bedroom, every detail ingrained in her memory. Yet, the furniture was gone, replaced with Dr. Hydes's belongings. A wave of nostalgia washed over her, mixed with a strange sense of loneliness.

"Do you feel isolated in this big room, Doc?" she blurted out before she could stop herself. Dr. Hydes raised an eyebrow, surprised by her question. "Isolated? It does feel a little... empty, like..." He hesitated, searching for the right words.

"Like an old childhood room meant for more than one person?" Kate finished his sentence, the realization dawning on her. Dr. Hydes's eyes widened in genuine shock. "Exactly! How did you know?"

Kate's voice dropped to a whisper, a name on her lips that tasted bittersweet. "Ms. Clover... my mother." It felt strange, almost surreal, to use that term after all these years of abandonment. Dr. Hydes's expression softened with understanding. "You lived here?" "As a child," Kate affirmed, confusion creeping in. Before she could elaborate, Dr. Hydes knelt beside her, his voice now softer, more feminine.

"Do you still own this house? If so, here." He held out a pouch of bronze coins, a gesture of unexpected generosity.

Kate stared at him, bewildered. "What are you doing, Doc?" He took a deep breath, a flicker of fear in his eyes. "This is for the house. I apologize for... taking it without permission. I thought it was... abandoned." Kate's jaw dropped. "I was on the streets, not in this house! I didn't even know this was still mine!"

A wave of guilt washed over Dr. Hydes as Kate's words sunk in. He retracted his hands, a low apology escaping his lips. "Oh, I'm sorry about that, Miss. I truly thought this house was still abandoned."

Kate, however, didn't seem fazed. A twisted smile played on her lips. "Don't sweat it, Doc," she rasped, her voice still weak from her ordeal. "Honestly, I kinda get it. You want a place to help people, a place to make a difference. Me? Stealin', well, that's... well, it's fun, let's just say."

For a moment, Dr. Hydes forgot all about the house. He watched with a mixture of amusement and concern as Kate patted down her pockets and hair, her brow furrowed in concentration. "What are you looking for, Miss? You shouldn't be exerting yourself after that... unpleasant experience on my doorstep."

A triumphant grin replaced the furrow on Kate's face. "Found him!" she exclaimed, pulling a fiery orange blur from her hair. Nestled amongst the auburn strands was Roy, his tiny form a perfect match for her hair color. "Now where was I? Ah yes, survival! And this little guy," she added, holding the sleepy mouse towards Dr. Hydes.

The doctor leaned closer, his gaze drawn to the creature nestled in Kate's hand. Roy, however, did not share the enthusiasm. His usually bright eyes were dull, a faint reddish tinge lingering around them. His tiny teeth chattered occasionally, revealing a speck of food stuck between them. His fur, normally immaculate, appeared slightly ruffled.

As Kate held him out, Roy stirred, his beady eyes locking onto Dr. Hydes. A barely audible chirp escaped his tiny mouth, revealing a glimpse of pink tongue and white teeth. For Dr. Hydes, however, the chirp morphed into a deep, unsettling voice that echoed in his ears.

"Doctor..." the voice rasped, a thick fog enveloping his vision. He saw himself standing in a desolate field, clouds moving faster than a god, greyish skies, and surrounded by countless corpses, their faces had nothing but a mirror reflecting a kaleidoscope of past victims of illnesses. The voice grew louder, closer.

Roy scurried across Kate's hand and onto Dr. Hydes' shoulder, nuzzling against his neck in a gesture of comfort. The voice, though, twisted in Dr. Hydes' mind.

"I'm going to lick ya," it hissed, the tone dripping with malice, "and you'll get something... deadly, doctor. Incurable. A biohazard." A single drop of saliva, thick and dense, dripped from Roy's mouth, landing on Dr. Hydes' skin.

Panic seized him. His heart hammered in his chest as visions of his body withering away filled his mind. He saw the impact, the destruction, the extinction he would cause. The carefully constructed facade of Dr. Hydes crumbled, replaced by raw terror. A scream, raw and primal, erupted from his lips. The voice of the doctor, the carefully crafted persona, shattered, revealing a woman's voice, laced with fear and vulnerability.

In reality, however, Roy simply nestled deeper into Dr. Hydes' shoulder, exhaustion finally claiming him after a long night of saving Kate. His chirp was a quiet one, a sign of fatigue rather than malice. The tiny mouse needed rest. 

Unfortunately for Roy and Kate, the doctor's panicked wails shattered the fragile peace. As the carefully constructed facade of Dr. Hydes crumbled, a wave of transformation rippled through the room. Her short, formal hair seemed to writhe and lengthen in a heartbeat, cascading down her back in a tangled mess. The crisp uniform she wore dissolved into a loose-fitting garment, revealing the soft curves of a woman beneath.

The sudden shift startled Kate. Roy, flung from the doctor's shoulder by the convulsive movement, landed with a soft thud right on her freshly stitched wound. A searing pain, intense and sharp, ripped through her, like a battering ram slamming against her already fragile body. The world blurred at the edges, her vision swimming with dizziness. Something was wrong.

Through the haze, Kate saw a horrifying change in the doctor's eyes. The cool, professional brown irises seemed to melt and warp, morphing into a sickly shade of reptilian yellow. Panic surged through her, a primal fear that clawed at her throat. Instinctively, she leaned closer, trying to get a better look.

But before she could focus, her strength gave way. Her legs buckled, and she tumbled off the operating table with a surprised cry. The doctor, snapped out of her terror by Kate's fall, whirled around.

"Miss!" she exclaimed, rushing to Kate's side and catching her before she could hit the floor. Concern flooded her face, momentarily replacing the raw fear that had been etched there moments before.

Silence stretched between them for a tense moment before Kate's eyes fluttered open. "Miss, are you alright?" the doctor asked, her voice laced with genuine worry.

Kate stared back, her gaze wide and bewildered. The doctor looked completely different. Gone was the composed professional she had encountered earlier. In her place stood a woman with worry etched on her face, a woman whose eyes, although no longer glowing yellow, held a depth of vulnerability Kate hadn't seen before.

Believing this must be someone entirely different, Kate clutched her wound, her voice trembling slightly. "Who are you?" she rasped. "Are you here for an appointment? Dr. Hydes is trying to help me right now, to see another sunrise."

A wry smile touched the woman's lips. "Well, you are seeing Dr. Hydes right now, face to face," she replied, a hint of self-deprecation in her voice.

"But you look like a woman, how..." Kate started, her confusion evident. Her gaze drifted down, landing on the woman's chest, which, unlike the broad chest of a man, was flat. A beat of stunned silence followed, and then a single chuckle escaped Kate's lips.

The woman, clearly bewildered, followed Kate's gaze and finally understood. Her cheeks flushed a deep crimson as she stammered, "What are you chuckling about?" She glanced down at her own body, realization dawning in her eyes.

Kate, unable to contain herself any longer, burst into laughter. A bitter laugh escaped Hydes' lips, the sound echoing awkwardly in the tense silence. "Laugh all you want," she said, her voice laced with a defensiveness that only amplified the vulnerability in her eyes. "It's not like you have much to brag about either." Her gaze flicked down to Kate's chest, lingering for a beat before a smirk twisted her lips. "Those curves of yours could barely qualify as bumps on a cobblestone."

Kate's laughter died in her throat, replaced by a spark of indignation. "Well, at least they're not like yours – a flat, dusty plain!" she retorted, her voice laced with a touch of venom.

"Lump!" Hyde countered, her voice rising in pitch despite the forced amusement.

"Void chest!" Kate shot back, the childish insult leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

The back-and-forth devolved into a volley of increasingly juvenile taunts, each one a desperate attempt to mask the fear and confusion swirling beneath the surface. Finally, Kate reached a breaking point.

"You know what, Doc?" she spat, her voice raw with anger and a hint of desperation. "I'd rather be out there feeling the pain in the streets than be stuck here with someone who thinks name-calling is a good use of their time!"

With that, she pushed herself to her feet, the throbbing in her chest a dull counterpoint to the burning anger. Ignoring the doctor's startled cry, she stumbled towards the stairs, her vision blurring at the edges. The world outside, a cold, rain-slicked canvas of darkness, seemed infinitely more inviting than this sterile room filled with unspoken secrets and misplaced hostility.

Ignoring the pain that flared with each step, Kate slammed the heavy oak door shut behind her, the resounding boom echoing through the empty halls. A faint cry of concern, lost in the drumming rain, did little to soothe the storm brewing inside her.

Alone on the rain-soaked steps, Kate cradled her wound, the dull ache a constant reminder of her vulnerability. "Sorry, Roy," she whispered, her voice thick with shame. "That flat chest... I just had to leave. Hope she chokes on dirt, right Roy?"

Reaching for her fiery-haired companion, a cold dread washed over her. Her fingers met only empty air. Panic clawed at her throat. Roy, her only friend, her constant companion, was gone.

The realization crashed over her like a tidal wave. Left behind, abandoned. On this cold, night, with every breath a struggle, the weight of her isolation pressed down on her. Memories of the mine, of being a forgotten child, surfaced – a chilling echo of the present.

"No friends, no family," she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "Just another thief soon to be forgotten. Great. Just great."

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the bleak world around her. Her body was wracked with tremors, mirroring the storm raging above. "It's the same, isn't it?" she croaked, her voice lost in the drumming rain. "Just like the incident in the mine – everything turning into dust, history, with it turning into a grave... but worse. No people, No one to support me, just me alone in the cold. Anyone, please make these thoughts stop!"

A sob escaped her lips, a raw, primal cry of despair. "No one will know me, not as anything but a thief. I'll die here, another forgotten soul rotting in the streets."

She hugged her knees to her chest, a desperate attempt to ward off the encroaching darkness, both physical and emotional. "I'm going to die alone," she whispered, the words tasting like ash in her mouth.

A sliver of light pierced the oppressive darkness, a beacon cutting through Kate's despair. The heavy oak door creaked open, revealing a silhouette framed by the warm glow emanating from within. A voice, hesitant yet concerned, broke the silence.

"Hey, Miss," it spoke, the sound carrying through the rain-slicked night. "I found your... mouse."

It was Hydes, her voice barely a whisper. Her hands trembled slightly as she held something out – a tiny, orange blur nestled comfortably in her palm. Roy. Relief washed over Kate, momentarily pushing aside the bitter taste of their argument.

But Hydes' words trailed off, unfinished. Her gaze darted between the sleeping mouse and Kate, a flicker of worry etching itself onto her features. "Do you know," she began, her voice tight, "that the bubonic plague is..."

The sentence died on her lips as she fully took in the sight before her. Kate, slumped on the steps, tears carving glistening tracks through the grime on her face. A jolt of concern coursed through Hydes, replacing the lingering apprehension.

Ignoring the ache in her legs, Hydes lowered herself onto the step beside Kate. The damp cold seeped through her thin clothes, but it was a distant sensation compared to the raw emotion radiating from the young woman next to her.

"Are you alright?" she asked gently, her voice softer than the drumming rain.

Kate flinched, startled by the unexpected concern. Hastily, she wiped at her tears, the backs of her gloved hands leaving streaks of grime across her cheeks. "Well, Doc," she croaked, her voice thick with emotion, "I'm just fine. I'd do better without you anyway. Now, can I please have Roy back, Doctor Flat – I mean, Doctor Hydes?"

The playful jab, laced with a hint of bitterness, fell flat. Hydes could barely register the accidental insult. Her focus remained solely on Kate's well-being.

"This is your building, remember?" Hydes pointed out, her voice a low murmur. "And besides, you're bluffing."

Confusion clouded Kate's face for a moment. "Bluffing, Doc? I'm pretty sure I'm not."

Hydes reached out, a hesitant touch landing on Kate's shoulder. Her eyes, filled with a mix of concern and exasperation, locked with Kate's tear-filled ones.

"Miss," she began, but Kate cut her off, a hint of defiance lingering in her voice. "Kate," she corrected, the name a small act of defiance against the formality Hydes seemed so attached to.

"Kate, or whatever," Hydes continued, her voice firm but not unkind. "I haven't finished stitching your wound yet. And just a moment ago, I saw you crying. I think it might be best if you..."

Her voice trailed off, the solution she sought eluding her. With a sigh that spoke volumes of her exhaustion, Hydes looked down. "Look," she finally conceded, "if you just stay for a bit, even for one night..."

Kate hesitated. The thought of seeking shelter, of accepting help from this strange, contradictory woman, was a bitter pill to swallow. Yet, the thought of enduring another night in the rain, her wound throbbing, was even less appealing.

"I'll be fine," she mumbled, more to herself than Hydes. "Just got some dust in my eye, that's all."

She reached for Roy, a flicker of warmth returning to her eyes. But as she started to rise, a gust of wind sent a fresh wave of rain lashing down. A shiver ran down her spine, and she winced as the pain in her chest flared.

Across from her, Hydes watched, the disappointment in her eyes a stark contrast to the concern that had been there moments ago. Shame washed over Kate, a bitter aftertaste to her defiance.

Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the doorway, her back straight despite the tremor in her legs. With a newfound resolve, she raised her hand and knocked on the heavy oak door, the sound echoing through the night.

The heavy oak door creaked open a fraction, revealing a sliver of golden light that sliced through the relentless downpour. Kate stood there, her ragged clothes plastered uncomfortably to her skin, the rain chilling her to the bone. Hydes, framed by the warm glow of the interior, peered out at her with a mix of concern and a question hanging in the air.

"Miss Kate," she began, her voice barely audible over the drumming of the rain. "Did you change your mind?"

Hydes' expression held a quiet plea, a silent offer of refuge that resonated with a conflicted side of Kate. One part of her, battered and desperate, yearned for the warmth and safety within. But the other part, the hardened thief, recoiled at the idea of accepting help, a pang of gnawing guilt at her past crimes twisting her gut.

The silence stretched, punctuated only by the relentless rain. Each drop seemed to echo the agonizing decision weighing on Kate. Finally, she took a deep breath, a flicker of resolve igniting in her eyes.

"Doc," she began, a hint of a smile playing on her lips despite the pain that lanced through her chest with each ragged breath. "I did change my mind."

As she spoke, a jolt of pain ripped through her, doubling her over. Hydes' face contorted with alarm, her concern momentarily eclipsing any other emotions.

"Careful!" she exclaimed, rushing forward to steady Kate before she could topple over.

With a grimace, Kate sank onto the rain-soaked steps, the throbbing in her chest a dull counterpoint to the storm raging outside. Hydes knelt beside her, her brow furrowed in worry.

"And your chest," Hydes added, her voice laced with concern. "It sounds like the deepest parts of hell, doesn't it? Let's get you back inside and finish up those stitches."

Relief washed over Kate, a warm wave dispelling the chill that had crept into her bones. Inside, away from the relentless rain, there was a chance, a fragile hope for some semblance of comfort.

Hours melted away as Hydes, with practiced ease, finished stitching Kate's wound. The makeshift operating table felt strangely comforting, a far cry from the cold, unforgiving streets. As the final stitch was secured, Kate gingerly probed the wound, ignoring Hydes' admonishing hiss. A sharp pang of pain shot through her, a reminder of her vulnerability.

"Told you not to touch, Ms. Kate," Hydes said with a sigh, a hint of disappointment tinging her voice. "Sorry, Doc," Kate mumbled, guilt coloring her cheeks. "About the whole... void chest thing before."

A beat of surprised silence followed, then a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of Hydes' lips. "Apology accepted," she conceded. "And for the record, I apologize for the lump comment. And... starting that whole mess with your furry... friend..." Hydes faltered, searching for the right words.

"Roy," Kate offered with a grateful smile.

"Yes, Roy," Hydes continued. "Sorry for almost driving you out with our little... name-calling duel." A chuckle escaped Kate's lips, the sound genuine and warm. "Don't worry about it, Doc. A petty thief like me can take a few jabs."

But even as she spoke, a burning question ignited in her mind. "So, Doc," she began, her voice curious, "mind explaining the whole pretending-to-be-a-man thing?" Hydes' smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of unease. "Well, Miss Kate," she began, her voice carefully measured, "let's just say my clients tend to trust me more if they perceive me as... well, a man."

A flicker of understanding dawned on Kate's face. It wasn't uncommon, for this ingrained prejudice against women in certain professions. "Huh," she replied, a thoughtful frown creasing her brow. "Yeah, that figures. Not exactly fair, is it?"

Hydes let out a dry chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. "Fairness is a rare commodity these days, wouldn't you agree, Miss Kate?"

Then, with a deep breath, she seemed to make a decision. "You see, Miss Kate," she began, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper, "you're the only one who knows my secret. As a bonus," Hydes continued, her voice vague but sincere, "I was born... well, let's just say somewhere near here. Learned everything I know about the human body from..." Hydes trailed off her face like a machine silently thinks, then continued "...scraps and stolen knowledge. Came here to pursue medicine, But then I realized... the path I envisioned for myself might not be as readily available for someone of my, well, preferences," she collected herself and forced a smile with her. "Anyway, enough about me. Miss Kate, it seems we've both forgotten something rather important."

Hydes cast a wry glance around the room, finally settling on the single, makeshift bed in the corner. It was Kate's old bed, the one she'd slept in during happier times. Now, it sat awkwardly in the sterile environment, a reminder of the past.

"Well, Doc," Kate started, a mischievous glint in her eyes that mirrored the one flickering in Hydes' now. "Where am I supposed to sleep?" Hydes' smile faltered for a moment, her eyes darting between Kate and the bed. The only other option was her small cot, tucked away in a far corner.

"Well, Miss Kate," she began, her voice hesitant, "I hope you're not, well, too attached to this room." A wave of surprise washed over Kate. This was her old room, the room that held memories of her childhood and Ms. Clover. But a sense of relief followed quickly on its heels. This room, once a symbol of her loneliness, now offered a strange sort of comfort.

"Are you kidding, Doc?" she exclaimed, her voice filled with amusement. "You're offering me my room? You must be crazy!"

But a genuine warmth bloomed in her chest, a stark contrast to the dull ache of her wound. Despite their differences, despite the bizarre circumstances that had brought them together, there was a sense of... connection.

"And before I forget," Hydes says, a faint smile plaster on her face "My real name is Hazzle, Hazzle Owenson"

Hazzle, for her part, felt a weight lift from her shoulders. The isolation that had shrouded her for so long seemed to lessen with Kate's presence. Here, in this unlikely situation, she had found a companion, someone who, for better or worse, understood what it meant to be an outsider.

Despite being strangers, Kate and Hazzle found a flicker of companionship in each other's presence. Their contrasting personalities and isolation drew them together, forming an unusual yet intriguing connection. Both outsiders in their own right, they were prepared to navigate the town's tangled mess, even if Kate's actions inadvertently contributed to the chaos. As for Hazzle, the newcomer, this unlikely encounter with a jaded thief might hold the potential for something more... but only time would tell.