Though the street is filled with nothing but a dark blanket of silent creaks and loud whispers, the young woman maneuvers with a renowned familiarity.  The cobble stone beneath her bare feet is cool but offsets her burning face from running from the man she has just stolen from. It is nothing timeless she has taken, merely an empty, leather bound notebook. Yet, the man still furiously chases her through the empty streets at midnight.
The streets are narrow and she knows from experience that the man would easily be able to catch her, just as the others had done so before. Her scarf, pale pink and as soft as velvet, is kept tightly tied around her face so she would not be recognized, arrested, and beheaded if caught by anyone other than her victim.
     As expected, the man catches the woman and tackles her to the ground within minutes- little does he know that it is not her who is caught. 
     “Can I help you?” the women quivers softly as he flings her arms behind her back with a sort of masculinity mayhem that burned her cheeks as red as his white collar, sparkling blood. She lays with her body grounded into the cold stone- a corpse surrendering to the consequences of death. She can feel, to her advantage, her face obeying demands and blushing with delicacy- preparing for the great reveal.
     “You can help me by returning what you stole from me, you commoner!” the man  angrily shouts, spitting little droplets of beer breath saliva onto her face. The pink scarf was not fazed. There is a moment of silence. She can hear his belt buckle thundering: its echo parading through the hollow alleyway, however not heard by any citizen sleeping soundly in their home just a few feet from the two. She hears a crack followed by the screams of a young woman wearing a baby pink scarf. Pain radiates throughout her body.  Her screams, desperately pleading for help, are ignored.
     “Please! You’re hurting me!”
     “Should’ve thought of that before you stole from me you filthy peasant.”
     “Please. Take my scarf, it is velvet and worth twice as many coins as the notebook.” She sobs. The man grunts, snatching the scarf from her face.
     What is unveiled before his eyes freezes him in admiration. Her warm, round eyes and sweet, helpless smile transfixes him. She expects nothing less.
     “Thank you. You’re such a gentleman,” she purrs.
      Still possessing the knowledge that she has stolen from him, he is cautious. He wraps his belt back around his bulging stomach, putting it away for another day. He grabs her arms once again, holding them behind her back. As he talks, his hands slowly slide down from her arms to her wrists, and finally, to her commanded quivering hands where they stayed still and firm. “Now, what is a young, innocent thing like you doing robbing an older, wealthy folk like me? Where’s your husband?”
     “It would be my pleasure to discuss that with you, however I cannot seem to focus with my arms like this.” She motions with her eyes to his hands in hers.
     “Oh, oh. Yes. Of course, my apologies, Ma’am.” He releases. He watches her intently and cautiously. He can not help but notice her strawberry scented aroma.
     “Thank you. I haven’t met a man as polite as you in ages! Or as handsome, may I add.”
     The man blushes.
     “Anyways, my husband is away on a business trip up north a bit. He’s a businessman, you see. Very busy. I get lonely sometimes.”
     “I am going to have to report you to the township, Ma’am.”
     She ignores him and continues. “That is why I decided to take your journal! I simply knew you would catch me and thought you were quite a gentleman and why, I’ve been so lonely. So, so lonely...” She turns away from the man for a dramatic moment with a mischievous smile on her face. She has him right where she wants. The pain from the whippings on her back has vanished; she had built a tolerance to it having lived through it her whole life.
     “I, um..” He is speechless. Her innocent beauty is reflected in his eyes, and she can see it as clear as day despite the darkness of the night. “Keep the journal for your troubles, just don’t think about robbing me again or I will have to report you.”
     “Thank you Sir! I appreciate your generosity.” She kisses him lightly on the cheek before departing. Little does he know that while he was lost in admiration, she had snuck her skilled hand into his coat pocket, snatching a pouch of gold coins and the pink, velvet scarf.
     She smirks in satisfaction and returns home to her pile of stolen treasures from the men who had fallen victim to her cleverness. If the world isn't going to play fair, neither will she.