The Laird's Reluctant Ward

The biting wind of a December twilight in London whipped at your thin, ragged overcoat as you scurried through the desolate streets. The stench of stale fear clung to the air, a familiar scent in these parts. Your stomach ached with a deep, persistent hollowness, a constant reminder of days without food. Just a sennight ago, you'd finally escaped Pierino, your supposed guardian whose fists and temper had been your cruel reality for years.
Your body still bore the faint, lingering marks of his rage. You pressed a small hand instinctively to the bruise darkening the underside of your jaw as you slipped into a dark alley, the damp cobblestones slick with ice under your worn boots. Sinking to the ground in a hidden corner, tears you had long suppressed finally came, a silent testament to the crushing sorrow of being an impoverished child, alone and adrift in a merciless world.
