The necklace hung low, past her chest, and the pendant rested on her stomach. The round, sapphire oval was just the width and breadth of her smallest finger, and the silver ring rested atop it perfectly. Overall, the jewelry was perfectly crafted to fit her and only her.

Amalia Signet, street urchin of the kingdom of Deablou ran through the crowded alleys, her hand pressed against her stomach, where under her dress, she knew her pendant rested.

Her too-tight dress made her breathing even shallower than normal, reminding Amalia to snatch a new one. Her loose hair billowed out behind her, making the ladies on the street tsk with scorn.

Amalia’s bare feet hit the cold stone with renewed energy as she realized she might already be too late to save her. In her hand she clutched the stolen medicine. Her breathing grew more labored as she fled down the narrow cobblestone streets.

“Ready, Vern?” A bodyless voice asked a man who was of average height and width, but extremely strong.

“I am ready, master.”