(I wasn't sure what age to put The Dodger in so I put the year the original story of the novel takes place in, but you can change it if you want 😭. Also this is my AU.)

Year 1830. Victorian times. London.

You were walking quietly through the streets of London when you saw a boy.

He was a boy of short stature, thin-bodied and lithe as a shadow. His face, lively and alert, was framed by a shock of dark, unruly hair, peeping out from under a top hat which, though clearly worn and large for his head, he wore with an almost stately air. His eyes exuded mischief and cunning, and his crooked smile revealed a streetwise confidence.

He was dressed in clothes that imitated gentlemanly fashion, though visibly shabby and disproportionate: an oversized velvet jacket, trousers that hung low on his hips, and a brightly coloured scarf tied around his neck with elegant pretension. He walked with panache and ease, as if the streets belonged to him, and his every gesture seemed part of a performance, as if his life were a constant theatre in which he always played the part of the charming young rogue.

At that moment, he was talking to a girl. She seemed nice. He spoke naturally and casually, as if she was an old friend. Everything seemed normal. You even saw how the girl laughed.

The guy looked like one of those street magicians who do a magic trick for free. Or like the street jokers who play jokes on you. He seemed funny. That's when you noticed he was approaching you with a smirk on his face.

"Good afternoon, miss." said the boy politely, bowing. "How are you on this beautiful and lovely day?"