Sigourney, who was calling herself Starlight for the evening, watched a trio of beautiful girls walk past, laughing and fluttering their fans, giggling and teasing each other over the advances of their admirers at a party. A perfect set. All three were tall, with busts of just the right size, large enough to suggest adulthood, but small enough not to be mistake for well fed whores. Their hair was long and soft, in curls that were either raven, chestnut, or platinum, and held back with jewelled pins and soft velvet ribbons. They were bareheaded, thinking themselves to be young and bold. They wore daring ball gowns, one in scarlet, one in violet, and one in rose, and the fans they playfully fluttered matched. Their skirts were wide enough to take up the entire walkway, sweeping people away from them. Flowers caught reflections of the stars with velvet-soft petals. Then they were gone, leaving the scent of powder and perfume behind them, which Starlight inhaled wistfully.

She peeked out from the alley warily, finding the street deserted. The trio of beauties had been the last. Reluctantly, she slid out of the safety of her alley and opened her new fan. It had cost a lot, but men liked it when the night girls imitate society ones. She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to appear seductive instead of nervous. She fanned herself carefully with the odd contraption of white chicken skin and silver sticks. It felt strange in her hands, and nails painted with glossy red varnish tightened compulsively as a carriage came by slowly, her white knuckles going blue, but the horse continued trotting past her until it was out of sight. She breathed again, although it was hard. The new bodice squeezed and pinched everywhere that the old one had, and several places it hadn't. She'd been wearing it for five months already, since her body had changed, and she still wasn't used to it. It was blood red with faux gold trim emphasizing her breasts. She wanted to rip it off. Her chest did not need any help in being obvious. Ever since they had grown, at lest four times larger than any society beauty would be willing to sport, it felt like there were a pair of leaden weights pressing upon her lungs. The new bodice didn't help. It lifted them up and squeezed them together, barely covering them at all, if possible making them look larger than they actually were. She tossed her head back as long, straight hair like soot began to tumble over the unveiled milky white of her breasts. She tried to convince herself that it was good to have such a large bust, that the men liked large breasts in night girls. The bigger they were the better. She fanned herself nervously and whimpered a bit when she hit one of her breasts with her elbow. She'd never get used to them and she hated them, even if they did attract more men. She had certainly become more popular since her chest had grown. She was certain she had the biggest bust out of all the night girls in the city. She sighed sadly at the thought. She didn't want to be the most popular night girl. She was only sixteen. The most popular ones were supposed to be nineteen, at least.

The sound of footsteps made her straighten, thrusting her chest out, the starlight causing the faux gold framing the obscenely low "neckline" to shimmer. She fanned herself airily, quickly adjusting the semi-transparent red skirt that covered her shapely white thighs, at best.

"Good evening, Monsieur," she whispered in her breathiest voice. She was able to keep from squeaking at the end, despite the way the bodice pinched when she heaved her chest out. "It's a cold night to be out alone."

"Indeed it is, Mademoiselle." The man stopped, leaning casually against the wall in front of her, his hand propped a foot or so above her head.

He was good looking, compared to some. Younger than most. His face was clean shaven and his golden blond hair was worn long and loose, lying easily on his shoulders. He wore black velvet with mounds of foaming white lace at his throat and wrists, highlighted by the gleam of tiny blue stones that matched his eyes. He smelled faintly of alcohol, but his expression was pleasant. Friendly drunks were alright, she didn't mind them much. He was uncomfortably tall though. Six feet, probably, well over a foot taller than she was. Normally tall men weren't even lured over to someone below five feet like her, not even with her huge new bust. She hoped it hadn't grown again.

Starlight spread her fan out, holding it up to her face, staring up at the man with wide dusky green eyes framed by sooty lashes. "Monsieur should not be wandering the streets alone."

"Certainly not, but my friends seem to have abandoned me." He looked mournful, like a kicked puppy.

"How sad, Monsieur," she whispered, trying to put herself forward so her chest was resting against his, but found that his height made him too intimidating. Instead, she lowered her eyes, demure.

"Quite sad. But you, also, should not be out alone on these streets, especially not in the cold."

"Alas, Monsieur, this is also true." She licked her lips, biting them behind the protection of the fan, making them shimmer redly.

"Then please, Mademoiselle, allow me to escort you somewhere safe. For this evening." The young man lowered his hand from the wall to her shoulder, then trailed his fingers down to the bare skin of her breasts, stroking them gently, before going down to stroke her waist and her thigh through the scanty protection of her skirt.

"Why, Monsieur, such forwardness . . ." She giggled, hoping she didn't sound frightened.

"Well, tell me your name then, Mademoiselle, and we will no longer be strangers."

"Starlight," she whispered, lowering her fan to smile up at him, lips red and full, curving into a seductive smile.

"No wonder you're out at night then." He laughed and put his other arm around her, pulling her against him.

"That's right," she whispered, giving him one of those low, arousing looks as she pressed herself against him.

"Another victim of the plague, Monseigneur."

"Another? Who this time?"

"One of your lady's maidservants."

"That's a bit of a nuisance, what? Does she have a husband or something we'll have to appease?"

"She has a daughter."

"Eligible?"

"Hardly. She's nine, Monseigneur."

"What a bore. Her father?"

"A base born child, Monseigneur."

"And she was one of my lady's maidservants?"

"It happened before she began to serve your lady, Monseigneur."

"Still . . ."

"Still, she will have to be provided for, Monseigneur."

"Oh, I suppose. Just . . . give her some money or something and send her to the church to take care of."

"Which one do you think?"

"Oh, you know the one I'm thinking of. Um. That one, with all those women around."

"The Church of the Lady of Spring, Monseigneur?"

"Yes, that's the one. Give them the money and tell them to take care of her."

"Her name's Sigourney Maroi."

"Grand name for such a little thing. How old is she?"

"Ten."

"She doesn't look it. Does she do anything but stare?"

"Not much. She's very quiet."

"So I see. And you're giving her to the Orphanage of the Mother of Summer because . . .?"

"The Church of the Lady of Spring is no place for such a child."

"Eh?"

"Bastard child."

"Ahhh, well, I can't promise she'll do much better here at the Mother's Orphanage. Our patrons like to take charity cases to make themselves look better, but there are some things that go beyond the realms of charity, you know?"

"I know. But still, we certainly can't keep her, not now that it's come out. It's blasphemy against the Lady to have a child born of sin under her roof."

"Too true, too true. Very well. We'll take her, but only until she's old enough to get an apprenticeship somewhere."

"Very good of you. I'll remember this."

"What's your name, little kitten?"

"Sig - Angelica. My name's Angelica."

"You're far from home, precious."

"I don't have a home, Monsieur."

"How sad. Do you have a job, little one?"

"No Monsieur."

"How old are you, lost waif?"

"Almost thirteen, Monsieur."

"Do you have any money, dear one?"

"I have three coppers, Monsieur."

"That won't do, petite, not at all. Come with me, and I'll show you how to make more than three coppers, angelic one."

She sat up in bed, panting, clutching a sweat-sticky blanket to her heaving chest, grateful for the illusion of cover. That was the first time this month that she'd had those odd real dreams. She shivered and wanted to curl back under the bed, hide herself against the man's warm and sticky back. She resisted the desire with a sad sigh and slipped out of the bed carefully. She washed most of the carnal stickiness from her body and face with a small cloth and water from a pitcher beside the bed.

Silently, she crept to the other side of the bed and gathered her clothes from where they had been thrown by the young man in his enthusiasm. Slowly, she pulled the garments on, whimpering inaudibly as the bodice squeezed her breasts together and forced them up. She tugged the skirt down slightly, as far as it could go, and gathered the handful of bills that the man had given her in payment. Carefully, she thrust them between her breasts, below the neckline. They'd be well hidden there, for now, and the bodice brought her breasts so closely together that she wouldn't loose anything.

Slinking towards the door, the leant up and explored the pockets of the man's great coat. She removed a fistful of bills and put them with what he had originally given her as payment. Nervously, she glanced behind her, but the young man showed no sign of waking from his deep slumber. He'd never notice the absence of a full notes anyways. He was obviously well off. Trying to feel brave, she turned the door's handle and slid out, shivering when air unheated by fire hit her near-naked body.

Swiftly she left the home the man had brought her to, heading off to find a place to safely spend the remainder of the night.

No one ever helped the children of the night. Sigourney, who decided to be Orchid now, sniffed softly. She dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand as she walked the empty streets. It didn't help. Tears continued to stream from her eyes as she walked, head bent.

It wasn't fair. She was only a little girl. She didn't deserve this. She deserved parents and suitors. She deserved a husband who would hold her close and protect her from everything bad in the world. But she knew she didn't deserve anything at all. As she slid a note across the table to grubby innkeeper of a grubbier inn, she knew she had exactly what she deserved. She climbed the stairs and went into a room for the night, falling onto the bed, smelling comfortably of hay and must and mould. She rubbed her face in the pillows, pulling the patchy blanket over her cold body.

Children of sin deserved nothing from anyone.

Children of the night could only help themselves.

Sighing, Orchid rolled over in the bed, and fell asleep.