The air was old and still, and as soon as Rebecca entered, it was filled with thick dust. The green eyes surveyed the surroundings thoroughly. It used to be a bedroom, small but cozy, and it looked completely untouched for all these years. The bed, the closet, the small dining table; everything looked as if the former resident had just stood up and left, never to return.

Rebecca recalled the story about this place. Years ago, this whole townhouse belonged to a certain wealthy family. Its scion, one Lady Veronica, would often sneak away through this very room to meet with a lover of hers. One fateful night, however, she would slip on the wet windowsill and plunge three storeys down. The lady, according to the story, miraculously survived, but the accident had left her crippled in both body and mind. She would sequester herself in her attic, hoping her beloved would come and take her away one more time, but he never came. Lost in misery, she would eventually hurl herself out of the window, but not before hiding away the jewels her lover had gifted her during their first night; those, she swore, would never be touched by blood and filth.

Remembering this all, Rebecca took a glance at the window through which she had entered; she grabbed her cloak and wiped the windowsill, thoroughly, just in case.

Now, if she were a broken old lady, where would she hide her valuables…? She looked around the room once more, this time more attentively, and her eyebrow shot upward as she noticed a singular painting on the wall: a haunting portrait of a glassy-eyed woman, staring somewhere in front of her. The lady’s self-portrait, perhaps? It creeped her out, and yet, somehow, it seemed to beckon her. Hoping deep inside it wasn’t haunted, Rebecca walked up to the painting and put her fingers on it as gently as she could.

There! A tiny bulge at the center of the necklace on the lady’s neck. A hidden button, perhaps? She pressed it, and with a quiet click at the edge of hearing, a hidden mechanism was unlocked. The painting moved aside like a little door, revealing a safe. Locked, of course, and the key was nowhere to be seen, not after all these years. Then again, when was the last time a lock had ever stopped her?
Rebecca’s lock-picks made the short work of the old mechanism. One click, then another, then finally, the safe gave in and revealed its secrets to her. There, on a display bust, hung an old necklace, the exact same as the one depicted on the painting: pearls interconnected with thin silver chains, surrounding a big, beautiful ruby. She picked it up, very carefully, and took a closer look. Genuine! It could fetch enough coin for her to buy a townhouse of her own, and she would still probably have some left.

“I’ll take good care of it, milady,” Rebecca whispered to the portrait, closing the safe and removing all traces of her presence in the attic. Before long, she was back outside, climbing up onto the rooftop. Without even a moment of hesitation, she took off into the night.


= = = = =


There was another big townhouse, on the other end of the city; one nobody would dare touch for a good reason. Within this house was an orphanage, Saint Bartholomew’s Home of Lost Souls – or just Saint Barty’s for short. Its days of glory had long passed. The roof was full of holes, the windows weren't sealed enough, and from the outside, it looked like it was just one bad gust of wind away from completely collapsing. Yet for as long as it still stood, it would provide comfort to as many little ones in need as possible. Such dedication begat preservation.

A few nights had passed since the caper to Lady Veronica’s attic. Tonight was about as quiet as it could be in this quarter. The children were fast asleep, save for one, who had been having nightmares all night; but they wouldn't tell anyone, they were supposed to be a strong kid! Instead of sleeping, they stared blankly into the night sky through the window above their bed.

Suddenly, their ears twitched; something made a noise outside. Knocks on the door. This late at night? The child, led by curiosity, crawled out of bed and looked through the window, down below. There, they found a hooded figure knocking on the orphanage’s door. They rubbed their eyes and looked again. The figure was gone. Did they just see a ghost? They sat up on the bed, not knowing what to think.

As they looked through the window again, they noticed something else, somewhere else. On top of the building opposite to the orphanage, on the very edge of the roof, sat a hooded figure. They couldn’t make out the details, save for a pair of green eyes, locked on the ground below. Then, they heard the door below open. The child looked down as well, and noticed a familiar shape of Miss Alma. She was holding something big and black, and reading a letter of some sort.

When the kid looked back up, at the figure on the rooftop, it was looking straight at them. Normally, they would be frightened, but the way those eyes glared at them… it was almost comforting, like an older sibling visiting their family after many years. The figure gave the child a wave, stood up and bolted into the night, leaving them in awe and disbelief.

The letter to Miss Alma read simply: “A humble gift from one lost soul to another. Use it well.”