Prologue of my [Untitled] novel

Prologue:

On a wet street in the middle of a city, a girl of roughly thirteen years old lay barely conscious. The streetlight shining over her emphasized her noire* hair, which was in old-fashioned ringlets, framing her thin ivory face. She was on her back, right arm across her chest, while her left was close by her side. Her knees were bent, hips turned to the right side. The people on the street looked at her as they passed, tossing coins and the occasional bill onto the ground near her feet. The girl was wearing a dress much like those found in the late nineteenth century. It was a bluish color – now brownish – with lace all around; on the cuffs, sleeves, collar, and at any other edge that didn’t have anything on it.

“Probably one of those whores from the theatre down the street,” mumbled one passerby to his friend. The men quickly walked away; scandal was the last thing they needed.

A small, scruffy-looking dog padded up to her and licked her face. The girl’s eyelids flickered open to reveal electric-blue irises. She sat up quickly, stunned to see the filth-laden animal. Backing up against one of the concrete buildings, tears began to fall from her eyes. She couldn’t remember ever seeing a dog and this one, with its wet and matted fur, scared her. The dog walked a little closer to her, then, sensing her fear, backed away and continued on up the street.

Sure that he was gone, she pushed herself away from the building and tried to stand using the rusted end of a fire escape to pull herself up and off of the dirty concrete. When the people saw her, they took a double-take. A teenager that’s having problems standing has to be a druggie, or that’s what they all seemed to think.
When she was up, she tried to walk. After taking two steps, she had begun to sweat from the strain and from all of the pieces of clothing she was wearing, only noticeable by her onyx hair sticking in clusters to her forehead.

Finally, she made it to the end of the sidewalk – no more than six steps. She sighed and wiped at her forehead, then wiped her hand on her opposite sleeve. A red light flashed, reflected in her eyes. It stayed for a minute, then turned green. Something honked at her and she spun around, seeing bright lights, and then jumped back to where she had started. Crystalline droplets fell from her eyes. She pulled her knees closer to her and wrapped her arms around them, and began to sob quietly into her dirty sleeves.

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The tears had come to a stop. Now, she just sat there, staring at the things passing by, with their bright lights. Hardly any people were passing by now. She tilted her head up to the sky and looked for the stars, or the moon, but saw neither. The lights and buildings of the city blocked them out. Her hands went up to her face to rub her eyes, and when she pulled them down, an old woman was looking down at her. The girl’s eyes widened and she tried to hide her face in her knees, but the woman touched her shoulder and spoke softly, soothingly to her.

“Dear, do you need a place to stay?”

She pulled her head free of her knees, not really afraid of the woman anymore. Her pretty face, with few wrinkles looked kind, like it had been through a peaceful life, like nothing bad had ever happened to the woman. She nodded to her, and stretched her legs out, preparing to get up again.

The woman noticed her difficulty and offered the dirty girl her hand and asked, “Do you have a name?”

The girl took her hand and heaved herself up, shakily standing. She stared at the woman blankly, not understanding.

“Ah, a mute? Well, my name is Ms. Rose. I run an orphanage down the street. Would you like to stay there tonight?”

She didn’t know what an orphanage was, but she nodded again and a small smile even crept onto her face.

“Alright then, you’ll stay with me tonight. And I think I’ll call you. . . Celeste, until you tell me or remember your name.” Ms. Rose smiled, and took Celeste’s hand and led her down the sidewalk towards Rose Orphanage.

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*Noire: Means "black" in French.