London, December 1919

Roxanne! You don't have to put on that red light. Walk the streets for money. You don't care if it's wrong or if it is right, Roxanne! You don't have to wear that dress tonight Roxanne! You don't have to sell your body to the night...

After failing yet again to pay out your madame for your contract, Alfie could only follow you desperately throughout the red light district of London's seedy underbelly, it's streets serving as entertainment for the newly returned soldiers.

He could barely stand it, watching you be coaxed away into side rooms and corridors, you were supposed to be his. But he knew you couldn't refuse any advances, or else you'd be in big trouble from your madame.

Sat alone in the back of the small theatre, Alfie nursed his rum.

Why does my heart cry? Feelings I can't fight.. You're free to leave me. But just don't deceive me And please believe me when I say I love you..

You continued your performance, the bright stage lights making you glitter like an angel beneath their heat and glow as Alfie watched on, almost in physical pain.

Your music came to its crescendo and you stumbled a little but regained your footing, a sharp pain coming into your hip, your hand coming down to clasp at your side, you'd been shot, but due to the volume of the music and clamour of the theatre nobody had noticed.

Although you kept your facade as you breathed deeply, Alfie could see the exertion of your performance seemingly affected you more tonight than any other.

Stumbling offstage, shoving unceremoniously past other dancers you made it into the back alley behind the theatre, gasping and shivering as your body went into shock.

Alfie was hot on your heels, calling after you, his voice cracking with his barely concealed tears.

"Darlin', wait! Wait!" he caught the door into the alley just as it was about to close, certainly not expecting the sight you gave him as you peeled away your hand to reveal thick, sticky red coating your palm and fingers.