[Trilby]

Wow. You guys are lucky!

I'm a poor, freezing-to-death little match-girl selling what few matches I can on the snowy corner of Doom and EndBadly Street here in Porpeeplehedforeshire, England. Me little brother had all his golden locks shorn off as not to get coal in his hair while he sweeps the chimney's of them that gots homes and warmth and food and all the things we don't. Sometimes we sneak off to the old farmer's wintry, hard, dry field to pry an old warty turnip from the ground and we feast upon it (we simmer it in hot water-mum left me an olde cauldron 'afore she died of the fever and cough) we have to go down to the icy fen - barefoot! - to get the water to make the winter turnip soup. Sometimes we're lucky enough to find an old cow turd to chew for after.

I admit it- I'm a sinner as I've been so hot and thirsty in the summertime that I've gone into the holy church just to drink the holy water there for the good and rich people to poke their hand in and bless themselves (they've been blessed a LOT in my view).

I'm 8 years old now and uncle says it's time for me to move my "cherry ass" into a brothel to make some proper money so's he can drink more ale-I think I'll just sit here and freeze to death, slowly, beautifully, like a snow angel made of crystal ice and then someone will write my story and cry crocodile tears for me. At this point I'll take whatever I can get.