From the doorway of her shop, Rose stared out into the grim city, the long winter clogging it with the smell of putrid smoke. But there was another stench in the air. Piss. The piss of vile and monstrous creatures. And in the dimly lit street before her, the suspicious, the downtrodden and the hapless walked past. 

'Perchance sparing a few pennies for a weary traveler?' limped an old beggar caked with grot. Drool poured from his mouth and snot bubbled from his nose. 

'Mr Fry,' furrowed Rose, not at all taken aback by the sight, 'when was the last time you traveled?' 

The beggar painfully widened his eyes and slurred, 'You know my name?' 

In slight annoyance, Rose pursed her lips this time. 'I've known you for two years, Mr Fry.' 

'Have you now? Isn't that interesting. Are we lovers?' 

A brief grin escaped Rose. 'No, Mr Fry. And you really shouldn't be asking a young woman twenty-one years of age such a thing. In fact, you shouldn't be asking anyone such a thing. It's not proper.' 

'Not lovers then. Shame. So, any chance of those pennies?' 

With a nod, Rose took several coins from the pocket of her dress and placed them in the beggar's outstretched and knobbly hand. 

'You're a dear.' Mr Fry stared at the donation, counting every copper, before staggering in disbelief at such the large sum. 'My word. Are you sure we're not lovers?' 

Shaking her head, Rose pursed her lips again and replied, 'I'm sure.' 

Stumbling off, the old man replied, 'Unlucky. For both.' 

Though one of the more skilled tailors in the city, a skill that could afford her a bigger shop in the best location, Rose chose Hulda Street. She liked the grittiness, being hidden away. 

An angelic whistle soon wound down the lane before a bright smile from a girl with matted red hair skipped over and stopped. 

'Having a good night, Miss?' the girl asked. 

Smiling back, Rose replied, 'Not bad. Not Bad. You, Emma?' 

'Could be better, Miss.' 

'So, what brings you this way?' 

'Shit, Miss.' Emma said it with much determination. 

'Excuse me?' Now Rose had widened her eyes. 

'People's shit, Miss. I heard farmers in the country pay money for it. They say it helps their vegetables grow.' 

'Is that so?' 

'It's true, Miss. You must believe me.' 

'I believe you.' Although she already knew the answer, Rose then asked, 'And how is the – uh – shit-collecting faring?' 

Emma slumped, her enthusiasm waning ever so. 'Not too well. People are surprisingly unwilling to hand theirs over. I've had a few chase me with brooms, Miss. Almost got my hide swatted real good. One even threw a bottle at me and another got the attention of a police officer, who gave me a proper telling off.' 

'Well, none of that is very nice, is it?' 

'No, Miss. People can be real twits.' 

'They sure can. How about I give you something to tide you over until things pick up? Maybe you can go home and get some rest. Start fresh tomorrow. I'm sure things will turn around.' 

Rose moved her hand towards her pocket but Emma snapped, 'I don't want your charity, Miss. I want to make my own way just like you've done.' 

Rose beamed but worried for the girl. 'You know, if I was to take on an apprentice, would you consider–' 

'Sewing clothes?' Emma interrupted, recoiling. 'No, thank you, Miss. No disrespect intended, but that sounds dull.' 

'No disrespect taken,' Rose chuckled. 

'Well, Miss, I must be off.' Sharply and with a click of her raggedy heels, Emma gave a salute. 

Rose aped the gesture. 'Good luck with your endeavors. And be careful, Emma. There are ones who skulk the night who are much worse than broom swatters.' 

'Please, Miss. I know. And if someone messes with me, I know where to kick 'em. Goodnight.' 

'Goodnight.' 

As Emma left, skipping away like she came, Rose mumbled something under her breath. 

That should help keep her safe. 

Just then, Rose's nose twitched from a meandering scent, and which was followed by the appearance of another. A man. Young. Her age. And despite his tattered black coat, he was clean shaven with no trace of dirt on his face. 

After scrutinizing and clearly verifying the shop's address from a newspaper in his hand, the man shuffled up, ripped off his woolen cap and held it as though it was a loved one. 'Are you Miss Harrower, the seamstress?' 

'Indeed,' Rose replied, bowing curtly. 

'I saw your advertisement in the Daily Post.' The man lifted up the print he was carrying. 'You have good prices.' 

'The best prices with the best quality seaming. Come on, let's talk inside, out from the cold.' 

The man nodded with a warm smile. 

Small but well kept, Rose's shop glowed from several glass lamps perched on the walls. Rolls of fabric donned shelves, and suits, dresses, hats, shawls and other garments hung from racks. And in the center was a fitting platform. 

After closing the front door, Rose proceeded to draw the blinds. 

'Privacy,' she explained. 'So, what can I do for you, Mr–?' 

'It's Mr Edwards but you can call me Peter,' replied the young man. 'And I'm in need of a suit.' 

Taking the man's cap and placing it on the counter, Rose asked, 'Special occasion?' 

Mr Edwards went red in the face. 'A wedding. My wedding.' 

Rose smiled excitedly though her heart betrayed it. 'Congratulations.' 

'That is very kind. Thank you.' 

'When is it?' Rose shuffled Mr Edwards over to the fitting platform and gestured for him to climb on top. 

'In a month. Would that be enough time to make a suit for me? I know you're probably very busy, so if it isn't–' 

'It's plenty of time. Not only am I a talented seamstress, if I do say so myself, I'm also a fast seamstress.' 

'That's great. Thank you.' 

'So, who's the lucky one? I bet she's absolutely wonderful.' 

Mr Edwards flushed again. 'Her name's Rebecca and she truly is wonderful. The love of my life. And whom I want to spend it with beyond anything.' 

'Let's get you measured. Would you mind taking off your coat?' As Mr Edwards did this, quickly handing it over, Rose added, 'Do you have any preferences regarding the suit? Type? Color?' 

'The cheapest. I'm not too fussed.' 

'I'll take care of you.' Rose placed the man's coat on a weathered chair nearby before pulling out something smooth and slender from her other pocket. 

'What's that?' asked Mr Edwards, knitting his brows at the pointed wooden object. 

'Just a tool.' 

'It looks like a wand.' 

Rose didn't respond but waved the slender piece of wood at the front door. And with a resounding click, it locked. 

Shock now graced Mr Edwards' face and Rose returned it with a wicked smirk. She could see his heart racing, pumping through his chest. But then with another wave of the wand, Mr Edwards ceased to move at all, as if he had just been turned to stone. 

Still with her smirk, Rose stared into the man's brown eyes and waited. It wasn't long before they began glowing a dull yellow. 

'Very low on the pecking order I see,' Rose finally said. 'As lone as they come, hey. I could smell it too. But beggars can't be choosers.' 

A faint growl escaped Mr Edwards' open mouth, the bestial utterance a whimper of its full potential. 

'There's no use fighting it,' Rose continued. 'You have transformed for the last time. Fucking werewolf. I hope your soul rots with the rest of your ilk.' 

Now with a violent swipe of the wand, as if it was a sword on a battlefield, the man's throat slit open with ease. Then in ribbons, blood flowed and flitted through the air. 

Using her hands, Rose guided the crimson strands to a bucket lying in the corner with an all consuming fixation. And once the vessel was full to the brim, the liquid congealing and frothing, the drained, pale, and lifeless body of Mr Edwards thumped to the floor. 

'Thank you for your patronage,' Rose said, staring down, emotionless. 

At this, the deceased's coat rose and needles with trailing thread sprung from the counter. Then darting over, the long-tailed tiny arrows got to work. They were fast and nimble as though they were a hive of bees getting ready for the depths of winter. Before long, the coat looked as good as new, the needles retreating back from where they came. 

'Wonderful,' said Rose. 'But I think blue would be a better color. Less drab.' 

In a flash, the garment changed from black to a royal sapphire. 

'Perfect.' Rose snapped her fingers and the coat flung over to an empty rack. She then looked down at the fallen once again and said, 'I'll deal with you later,' before walking over to the blood filled bucket, picking it up and marching through a set of curtains.