Disclaimer: I own nothing of the characters, story, etc. that inspired this "fan fiction". All the characters, except for Guinevere and any other additions, belong to Charles Dickens, who I am not and (regretfully, that is even though he is in the grave) will never be.
It was a cold, dark day. Rain poored, slanting across the streets. No one on the street could be seen except a homeless dog and a thin, fifteen year-old girl who staggered a little as she walked through the practically desolate streets towards the tired wreckage that a man by the name of Fagin called 'home'.
Finally reaching the door, she held up a thin and slightly bruised hand to nock at the warped door owned by the one man she could go to. She still couldn't hold back the thoughts that prodded at her mind saying things like 'Why do you think he'll help you?' and 'You won't be wanted by any of that lot now!'. But she had to hold to the hope that this man, selfish as he was, would assist her in her time of need.
She was broken out of her thoughts by a rough reply to her nock, "Who is it?"
Okay, hope you like the intro. PLEASE REVIEW.
This is my FIRST fan-fic EVER! (outside of the stuff that goes on in my personal day-dream land) giggle :D
There is WAY MORE I have planned – and, might I add, some stuff that I am not sure where it is leading me to!
Please cut me a little slack (as this is my FIRST fan-fic)! But, please REVIEW!
– Charlene Bates