The Little Match Girl Part 1

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Growing up in poverty never sounded pleasing. Living through times were there major differences in social standings never helped. You lived with your father and as a child you sold matches to people. Since you were only little, people took pity in you and gave you money for the matches and maybe a little extra. Now you were a young adult, it became much more difficult.

People would mock and laugh at you and men would harass you and it was difficult to even get a cent. You skipped meals and sometimes didn't eat days on end. Your father died shortly after you became of age leaving you alone. It was midnight and you only sold five matches. You pull you patched shawl closer as the snow falls. As you make your way back to your tent that it is on the verge of collapsing on itself you pay no attention to the road.

You hearing neighing of horses and turn to see a carriage speeding towards. You are paralyzed with fright and close your eyes in reflex. You don't feel the impact but instead feel yourself getting dragged and soon you are toppled on top of someone. You hurriedly get up.

"I am so sorry." you say. The man who saved you was wearing a brown suit and had a black coat on. His black hair is covered in the surrounding snow of the ground.

"It is fine and more importantly," he says looking at you. "Are you hurt?"

"No no. I am fine. Thank you for saving me." you then realize something. Your basket. The matches were in your basket. When you turn to the road you see that it is trampled and you let out a sigh.

"What happen?" the man asked you. You turn to him and feign a smile.

"Its nothing" and you begin to get up. The man notices the trampled basket and the broken matches.

"You sell matches?" you nod. "How much?"

"two cents per match." you say. You had about twenty in the small basket. 

"Here you are." he hands you a green bill. On it shows twenty. "For the matches and the basket." he smiles. You feel tears coming out. It has been a while since anybody treated you respectfully and gave you money that would be enough to last you a week.

"Thank you so much." you say graciously. You turn away from the man and pull your shawl tightly and begin walking when he grabs your hand.

"I take it you don't have a jacket." you look at the man confused. He takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulder. Your body relaxes as you feel the warmth of the jacket. "There you go. Nice and toasty. Winters are pretty harsh here. It would be a shame if you caught a cold."

"Thank you so much." you say. The man smiles and walks off and you head on back to your tent. There you start making matches. As for the man. He was a well known doctor who owned successful practice whose name Marshal Sim. He pitied those who were in the lower classes and did whatever seemed suitable to try and help them. He had given the poor money but today he had done something strange. He had given the young lady his jacket.

Marshal felt much more than pity for the girl and felt like he needed to give her his jacket. He tried to diffuse this feeling. After all he had a wife. When he arrived home he went to his room and greeted her. A sick woman she was. Wealthy as well. Lucia was the daughter of another doctor who had more status and suggested the marriage to Marshal. Marshal agreed but never loved her. In his eyes, she was a patient he was to take care of. 

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