Families would still be awake, some for hours longer before they would rest for the night. Not very convenient for Darcy, her fingers running over pages and sifting through to find a map. She could easily plot her route around her side of London, but her legs would be exhausted unless she found the shortest path. There was what she had been looking for, a map with the location of every postal box, as she went to copy it on paper with landmarks she could remember.

And food would not be an issue, it could make her sick. If she truly ended up being hungry, she would eat tomorrow after her travels complete.

The back of Darcy's mind didn't help, whining about how this would not actually achieve anything. If she wanted to make a statement, she would need to take gifts. *And that would be stealing, directly. Once these children give their letters away, they belong to the city, and I can take with no consequence.*

Well, no legal consequences. The misery of greedy small children just didn't bother her, they would get over it. Boo hoo, a bitchy little child would have to grow up when he did not get a toy. They didn't need it.

"When Father Christmas comes to find their letters... poof! Nothing there." She chuckled fo herself. And without letters, he would have no idea what to give them. Of course, she didn't actually know much about the legend, how this process supposedly worked. *My childhood was kind of- littered with family trauma and death. Father Christmas wasn't the first thing on my mind.*

She had different sizes of bags all around the workshop, but how heavy could a lot of paper even be. She wasn't stealing rocks.

An empty gray sack, it would work. For once in her life, Darcy noted, she wasn't going fancy. There wouldn't be any extravagance to her night.

She wished she could take things like wreaths, but she had no way to dispose of them. And thinking about it, she realized, what was she doing with all of these letters? She figured she could burn them or something, but fire would draw attention. Dumping them in the river wouldn't have the same level of relief.

And tearing every piece of paper in half just seemed like a ridiculous waste of time, why had she even thought of it, she asked herself.

*What am I-*

She wouldn't even let the thought come to her. She did not need to explain anything anymore, no family could need these pointless gifts. She'd think of something on the fly.

Darcy wouldn't let this feel like a waste of time, she could sacrifice one night just to bring everyone else down to where she was. Where they should be.

They couldn't be grateful for what they had, they didn't need gifts. And she continued repeating similar mantras to herself, like this was somehow convincing her own mind and justifying her actions to her conscience.

No care in her eyes, a dirty scarf on the floor that she had no problem discarding. She could do this bare, merely her daily dress clothes against the falling snow outside. Nobody would actually be looking out, and if they did, oh no! A girl in a casual suit taking a stroll, not out of place.

Especially not for her, the rest of the street she lived on preferred to remain inside whenever she came past. She didn't think of herself as rude, but she wouldn't complain about it. Silence meant comfort.

And checking in with her mother and sister would only compromise the secrecy she'd kept around her scheme. She couldn't go home now, there was no backing out.