Tom's Raven

The well-fed gentleman walked stiffly, his stick held under his left arm, his left hand resting on the worn, brass head. His blue-velvet coat was the only color among the somber shadows that clasped the All-Alone's even now in the late morning. He flinched under their oppressive leanings, and walked the more briskly until he arrived at a doorway near a cross-alley. He rapped once solidly with his cane-head and glanced over one shoulder. Only the rats glanced back.
He was let indoors by a slouching young man who immediately slunk off to complete some other chore and left the gentleman standing in the crowded room. Most of the furniture hadn't been made up from the night's repose. He deduced awkwardly that at least three children slept in this windowless space, and had for some time, by the smell. He tugged out a handkerchief and held it delicately over his peppery moustache.
The woman's dresses made nary a sound as she rounded the corner and called his name brightly. He turned and took her hands, smiling down at her open face.
"Come, sit with us upstairs and I'll have Warren bring up the tea."

He followed up the bare staircase and into a room that was, for the moment, brightly sunlit through a half-glazed window. They sat as near the windows as possible and he observed. She sat carefully, hiding her fatigue, her brown skirts tucked primly under her as posh as anything.
"You look well, Cousin. I can see Mrs. Heldon still puts cream in the stew," she grinned, making her eyes glisten briefly.
He laughed, patting his belly with just the slightest hint of regret. He was about to speak in reply, make some observation about her rosy cheeks, when an impatient shout summoned her away. She rose and he did the same. She shot him a regretful look and hurried out the door.
Once again he was left to entertain himself. Unlike the lower rooms, this one was dusty and bare. He imagined it was difficult to keep warm because of the window. He turned and looked out, down into the deeply shadowed alley where the rats squeaked and the muck ran between the rough cobbles.

The place was empty and ominous. A crash from downstairs distracted him momentarily and when he looked outside again a young girl crept from around a corner. She looked about her. The gentleman leaned against the windowframe and watched as she looked behind her again, placed a bare foot forward in the center of the road, folded her arms on her chest and leapt forward. As her body came parallel and the gentleman spying was certain she would crash onto the stones two large, black, feathered wings unfurled, pushing her upward toward him. He could see her rags, and the grim gleam in her eyes as she hurled past his window and up into the London sky.