The metal teeth clamped down on the bale and slid backward, ripping the binding that held the cotton together; it was like the machine was enjoying a pound cake, but only eating the glaze off of it. After sliding the large cotton bale into a rusting cart, Ian Browning pushed it over to picker, obscured by fog and scattering bodies. Although fog was common in London, the cloudiness in the textile mill was only floating particles of dust and microscopic fibres. Every breath that was taken would feel like swallowing cotton.<br/><br/>The weary cart wheels squealed in protest, but Ian gave them no mind. He was much too busy trying to keep his mind occupied with his monotonous job, despite the lack of thinking it required. If he'd let his head wander, it could venture into troublesome thinking. When Ian approached the picker, he saw that some cotton was still left to be fed into the machine. With furrowed brows, he looked to the boy working it, who was off to the side, looking down at his hand. Ian walked over to the boy and grabbed him by the shoulder, turning him around. The boy jolted when touched and gazed up at Ian with scared blue eyes.<br/><br/>"Wha's with the delay?" asked Ian sternly. The boy sheepishly held up his bleeding finger and murmured, "I... erm... hur' mah finger, sir." Barely glancing at the wound, Ian just plucked out a bit of cotton on the picker and stuck it onto the boy's finger.<br/><br/>"All bettah," he said with a cynical smirk. "Now, ge' on with it." The boy nodded with downcast eyes and went to work again. Since that bale was the last from the carriage, Ian went over to a frame to draw the fibres into long strands. Over there, a lanky man named George was chuckling in his hand, brown and callused from years of manual labor.<br/><br/>"You've gott'n low, lad," he said with an impressed expression. "The boy'd have a hand off and you'd still be making him work." Rolling his eyes, Ian replied, "I had a good teacher." George scoffed and shook his head, saying, "Boy, if you learned from me, you would've slapped that boy's face so his hand don't hur' that much anymore." They shared a laugh; George cackling obnoxiously while Ian chuckled demurely.<span style="font-style: italic">I haven't gotten that brash yet</span>, he thought as he imagined striking the boy.<br/><br/>Over the gnashing of the metal against metal throughout the mill, Ian could hear laughter rise as more men joined in unison. Initially, Ian wondered if they were laughing at him for his treatment of the boy, but was proven otherwise when a man said, "Oi, Ian. I think yer sister needs yer attention." Ian's hazel eyes dulled to a slate grey when he heard that.<span style="font-style: italic">What now?</span>Scanning his eyes over the people, he spotted his sister's petite figure prancing through the crowd like a doe in the forest. The cream color of her lacy nightgown amongst the dark attire of the surrounding men gave her away instantly.<br/><br/>"<span style="font-style: italic">Iiiiaaan</span>," sang Eve in her child-like voice as she scuttled around the mill. The two siblings looked like twins, in spite of the five year difference; Ian was twenty and Eve was fifteen. Deciding to ignore her, Ian continued working and hoped that she wouldn't notice him. However, with the directions of generous men and Ian's light blonde hair, she found him almost as quick as he did her. She tapped his shoulder and, when Ian turned to face her, was completely drenched from head to toe. He frowned at how transparent her nightgown was when wet. "Ian!" she cried, putting her arms around her brother. "I had the<span style="font-style: italic">loveliest</span>day! I found this li'l pond ou'side the ci'y and jumped in it! As I was swimming- and I tell<span style="font-style: italic">no</span>lie- I felt like Ophelia!" As Eve began to speak in her dramatic talk, she enunciated the pronounciation of her words. "I felt her spirit wrap its arms around my body and push me down under the water, but I would<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>allow myself to drown, because I just<span style="font-style: italic">had</span>to tell you about it first! Oh, Ian, it was so beautiful; I do wish you could have been there."<br/><br/>Ian wanted to explain everything that was wrong with what she was saying, like the fact that Ophelia was a fictional character and could have no ghost, but decided to go with, "You're lucky that I wasn't there. I would've drowned you myself for getting yerself wet." Eve gasped dramatically, putting her hand to her mouth.<br/><br/>"Father would have your neck for that," she replied with a childish pout. "Remember, he still loves me." Ian was about to say something cruel, but decided to let her dwell in her ignorance for a little while longer. A husky man approached Eve from behind and tugged at her gown, snickering and saying, "'Ey, I can almos' see righ' through this!" Pulling back her skirt, she giggled and said, "Behave yourself, sir, or you'll owe me." The man's broad face was stretched even further by his  crooked grin. Ian just rolled his eyes at this and continued drawing out the slivers of cotton.<br/><br/>Clutching her brother's arm, Eve pulled and moaned, "<span style="font-style: italic">Iiaaan</span>... would you take me to the market?" Ian jerked his arm away from her and snapped, "Evie! I have to work, don' you know?" She tried to blow a curl out of her eye, but it was too damp so she slid it to the side.<br/><br/>"I<span style="font-style: italic">know</span>," she said with downcast eyes, "but you can skip a few hours, can't you?" Ian shook his head, saying, "We need ev'ry pence we can get. If it wasn' for those blasted "Short Time Committees", I'd work the whole day." Eve gaped at her brother and retorted, "How selfish of you! I'd throw myself from a bridge, I'd be so<span style="font-style: italic">bored</span>." Hooking her arms around Ian's bicep again, she murmured with a grin, "I can go past my bedtime." Ian looked down at her bright green eyes, considering this.<br/><br/>"Fine," he spat blatantly, wanting to be rid of his defeat as quickly as he could.<br/><br/><br/><br/>"Ian," said Eve, stretching out her hands and walking in a straight line as if she was on a tightrope. They were walking on a dirt road, heading for the market on First Street. Even though it was just after noon, the London streets were as bustling as ever. Beggars in grimy clothing would go up to the finely-dressed, plead for alms, and be turned down by either a rotten look or no acknowledgment. "Where d'you suppose Shakespeare got his ideas? He<span style="font-style: italic">must</span>have been inspired by<span style="font-style: italic">something</span>." Ian scoffed at the question. Being a cynic of the literatary and artistic world, he replied, "The bastard prob'ly mingled with some other stories and put in fancy words." Eve hopped once, like she jumped off her tightrope.<br/><br/>"What rubbish!" she cried. "You, brother, are as green as the grass." Ian snickered at his sister's accusation and said, "Evie, ev'n a bloke like me can play around with words."<br/><br/>"You can't just play with them! There has to be<span style="font-style: italic">patterns</span>and<span style="font-style: italic">rhyming</span>..."<br/><br/>"Fine, then," interrupted Ian before clearing his throat. He imitated his sister's dramatic talk as he said, "I have a tale to tell; it is the story of a bell."<br/><br/>"No pattern!" insisted Eve with her arms crossed. "You had six syllables in the first line and seven in the second! Make them the same." Ian huffed and repeated, "I have a tale to tell; it is the... tale of a bell. It rang all day and night... erm..." As he tried to think of another line, Eve chimed in with, "Yet never was in sight!" She giggled and said, "Not as easy as you thought, hm?" Ian rolled his eyes and muttered, "Quiet, you."<br/><br/>Once they stepped on a bridge, Eve approached the ledge and looked longingly down at the water. She turned to her brother and asked, "Will you?" Ian frowned and shook his head, tugging at her arm to continue walking. She steps back and whines, "<span style="font-style: italic">Please</span>?" Ian's face hardened at this point and he said sternly, "No, Evie. We were chased by a policeman last time." She clung to his arm and looked up at him with glimmering eyes, murmuring, "<span style="font-style: italic">Ian</span>..." Ian wanted to maintain his refusal, but he knew that Eve wouldn't let up until he agreed. To preserve the peace, he nodded and she beamed. She whirled back to the bridge and climbed over the ledge while he held onto her shoulders.<br/><br/>Turning to face her brother, Eve smiled as he stepped back, moving his hands form her shoulders to her own hands. Then, he stepped toward the ledge, leaning her back as she pressed her feet up against the ledge of the bridge. As she dipped backward, she squealed happily, shaking her head at the wind that played with her long strawberry blonde waves. Passersby did nothing to stop them, but rather just gave disapproving stares and muttered amongst themselves. Feeling mischievous, Ian jerked her foward a few times and laughed at her shrieks. It was then that Eve released one of her brother's hands, letting half of her body off of the ledge.<br/><br/>Ian gave a cry and pulled her back into his arms. She was laughing hysterically, but he was fuming. Once he lifted her back onto the bridge, he tightened his grip on his sister and shouted, "Evie, you could've slipped and fallen in! Why did you do that? Are you mad?" As she settled her giggles, Eve gazed at her brother with tears in her eyes and a smile on her pink lips.<br/><br/>"Auntie says I'm a fallen woman," she said in a dreamy tone. Ian's eyes widened. "What does it mean?"<span style="font-style: italic">How suiting</span>, he thought, but said nothing.