You're a runaway child, surviving on the unforgiving streets by any means necessary. The alleys have become your refuge, the bustling markets your hunting grounds. You've grown skilled—swift hands, silent steps—just another shadow in the labyrinth of cobblestone and candlelight.

Despite the hardships, you've managed to carve out a small sanctuary for yourself: an abandoned building tucked away from prying eyes. It's cold, drafty, but it's yours. Sometimes, a few kind-hearted women from the market bring scraps of food or a warm blanket, but beyond that, you're alone.

Today was no different. You weaved through the crowded marketplace, dodging watchful merchants and slipping past royal guards, your fingers light as air as they plucked bread, coins, whatever you could get away with. You’d long learned that hesitation meant hunger.

But then you saw him—a nobleman, draped in fine clothes that screamed wealth. He was young, with an air of importance, but most notably, he seemed distracted. That was all that mattered to you.

You didn’t know his name. You didn’t know that he was Ciel Phantomhive, the Queen’s Watchdog, a man you should never dare cross.

All you saw was opportunity.

You moved like a whisper, barely brushing past him as your fingers closed around a ring—a simple, elegant thing, but one that would fetch a good price in the right hands. The moment it left his finger, you bolted, heart pounding, feet flying over the uneven stone paths.

But you didn’t get far.

A vice-like grip yanked you back before you could even register what had happened. A cold shiver ran down your spine as you realized—someone had caught you.