The shop was quiet and empty. It wasn't very big or very extravagant. In fact, it was nothing compared to a few of the others that lay nearby. The gentle glow of candles that decorated the poorly painted walls sent shadows across the floor. The windows held layers of mildew in their corners and cobwebs decorated the very corners of the shop. A worn table of red oak rested near the left wall and the counter was directly in front of any who entered. Shelves hung from the wall behind the counter, holding buns and bread. The scent of freshly baked dough filled the shop and the area around it. This would, without a doubt, lure people into its depths.

A chubby man wandered out from the pantry that rested to the right of the counter. In his arms was a tray of buns, fresh from the oven! He was humming quietly, shaking his large bottom as he moved. He deposited the tray gently on the table and waved the towel, which rested in his hand, gently over them to brush the steam aside. After inhaling their scent, he dusted his hands and wandered behind the counter once again. He was rather short and his hands were large. It was a wonder he could do such delicate work with his bone structure. His apron was smudged with chocolate, flour and sugar and looked as if he'd never taken it off. His curly black hair was lost beneath a white hat and he had a moustache that suited his face . . . a face that screamed 'Wake up the sleeping giant, and you'll be sorry!'

Though it was a small shop, there were places to hide. The shadows served the purpose well enough and were usually the place of choice for the young girl that occupied them. She was clad in a pair of black pants, torn at the knees and a simple shirt of creamed white. An olive trench coat, much to large for a someone her age, was complete with mustard yellow toggles and red stitching and covered her up in a attempt to protect her against the cold atmosphere. Blonde hair, thin and tangled, hung around her pale, smudged features like a curtain. Her eyes, like the bright blue sky on a handsome day, peered anxiously at her target and her fingers, small and numb, held a stolen pirates hat that suited her childish persona perfectly. Her name was Abigail . . . Abigail Ocean.

There was a gentle chime that caught the attention of both man and child. The chubby chef whirled around with a big, fake smile and watched the small family slither through the doors. There was a thin woman with high cheekbones and a rather long nose. She was, however, dressed to impress and held a small change purse at her stomach. Her hair was done up in a tight bun that accounted for her high face and small ears. She gave a huff and stepped inside, allowing the two young boys to tumble inside after her. Both were no older then five and looked identical. They were fighting mercilessly over a coin they had found on the ground. They were well dressed, but dirty from their rumbling and tumbling. Both had flaming red hair and their boyish faces were lost underneath their freckles.

'Michael - Edward!'

Her intentions were obvious. She reached down and tugged at one of their shirt collars in hopes of breaking them up. It worked - for a moment. However, when the lady turned her back, they dove at each other and continued their confrontation. The lady growled, but became preoccupied as the chef came up to the counter and leaned on it, waiting for her to approach. She stepped over her children and offered the chubby man a worn smile. When she spoke, each word dripped with an Irish tone and her eyes scrunched up oddly.

'A dozen freshly baked loaves, if you have them and perhaps a couple pastries for my handsome boys.'

She glanced over her skinny shoulder. Instead of smiling, she cringed a bit and quickly returned her attention to the chef, who was already taking a pair of pastries from the shelf. With his free hand, he laid a cloth on the counter and gently deposited the food. Once he had the buns and pastries organized to his liking, he wrapped it gently and held his plump hand out for her money. As they exchanged money and food, the boys caught sight of something. Their battle was halted and they both started to squint into the shadows.

'What the devil is that?'

As they stalked closer, Abigail narrowed her eyes and that pink tongue dashed past her dry lips and left a trail of moisture behind before it dashed back into her mouth. She pondered a plot on how to get the best of these terrible twins before her. It wasn't until they stopped, hardly inches from her position, that she snatched a floating idea and put it into action. It wasn't much, but it worked. She began to growl, much like an angry wolf and back up into the shadows so they wouldn't see her. The boys passed nervous glances and quickly recoiled and clung to their mother, who looked down at them with surprise. She gathered her parcel of buns and smiled to the chef, who nodded his head in dismiss.

'Come along boys! Lots to do and so little time to do it.'

The boys gazed wearily into the shadows as they passed them and stumbled in their desperation to cling to their mother. When they finally reached the door and squeezed out, they climbed into a carriage and disappeared.