[b]June 28, 1876[/b]

The sky was grey tonight, same as it had been every night of the month. No clouds, just grey. A light fog gave an even more dismal feel to the already exhausted atmosphere. No one's eyes looked up, feet dragged, and mouths stayed shut. It was quiet, here, at her old home. The bustle of the day had already tapered away, the children gone to dinner, the parents going about their business still in the automatic way that parents must. Not one person noticed her, sitting there on the steps of a group home, gazing down the road towards better circumstances.

Olivia had just watched her boyfriend of three months die. This one had been quite nice- a senator, newly elected, fresh and ready to make some waves. But he didn't know how to deal with the waves of the sea, it would seem. They had left on a nice little fishing trip together, and she had made her way back, alone, in the tears of a woman afraid to be caught. He was probably still floating out there, bloated and grey and sad, like the sky. 

It was almost time to leave, though. A week had passed since the man's funeral, where she had played the public part of a grieving loved one. Page two read, "The Unlucky Lover", a headline reused several times now, whenever such tragedies struck Olivia's intended.

A little boy came up to her, the first person to notice the woman all day. She did not fit in this world, in her pantsuit, and pearls. But this little boy saw the familiar spirit hiding behind the persona she had created, and offered all he could in his smile. Olivia- always fond of children, not that she ever wanted any of the things- smiled back, and produced from her purse some shiny coins. His eyes lit up, as she placed the trifle of money into his outreached palm. Only a child could be happy at the gain of so little, such a temporary thing as money.

Olivia stood, resigned to return to her new home, after the kid ran off. Rather than calling a carriage or escort of any sort, she had walked here- and she would walk back. The town was not too far, and she preferred those nice, solitary journeys.

An hour passed, and she found herself in town. Hands in her pockets, and eyes gazing upwards, she received sparse condolences from the few who recognized her face or noticed the black dress she wore. Enough time had passed that Trevor was old news, but not enough that the people had yet forgotten completely. She would have to wait a few more days before moving on to the next.

Her thoughts turned from schemes for the future to panic for the present, as a man hurried past her, knocking her backwards with a quick shove of his shoulder. Caught off guard, Olivia toppled, falling a bit before barely catching herself on the sidewalk; her palms were skinned, dripping a little bit of blood. And her purse was gone from them, snatched without warning.

Olivia stood, her skirts making that task a bit difficult, as no one offered any aid. She watched, regretfully, as the man who stole her purse disappeared into an alley down the road. Running after the thief would seem foolish, and warrant violence. However, she could not return to her residence without retrieving that purse. Contemplating for a moment, Olivia began to walk in the direction of the offender, the blood from her hands sinking subtly into the pitch black fabric of her mourning dress.