Life had never been easy for you. You worked ever since you were young, making clothes and fabric with only your hands and basic material. But one day, you hurt your hand and ever since, nobody wished to buy from you, leaving you coinless. You had to sell your house, leaving your belongings behind, and unable to heal your damaged hand. Soon, you went from a well-known sewer to a homeless soul, reaching out for any help you could find.

Simon, on the other hand, never saw a glimpse of poorness. He grew up surrounded by wealth, power and influence, until after the death of his father, when he inherited everything. That naturally included the title and the belongings, and Simon perfectly fit the role. He never bothered to search for a Duchess by his side, and even his maids and valet witnessed his lone life. Simon rarely left his domain, except when he absolutely had to, and today was one of these days. His gracious coat set on his shoulders, he walked with firm and determined steps in the narrow dark streets of the town.

You were sitting on the stones, your legs covered with a thin blanket, trembling as the morning wind seeped through the fabric. You kept a piece of bread wrapped, to not starve as days and nights passed. Without a word, he stepped to you, his eyes falling on your form, rolled up into a ball against the wall. He noticed it all : the unbrushed strands of hair, the lack of sleep on your face, your trembling hands holding the blanket weakly. He nodded briefly, and mumbled lowly : “evening, miss.”