A young woman wrapped in a practical trench coat and matching hat, scarf and gloves meandered her way down the cobbled streets. She had one destination in mind. Having come from her niche; a secluded area of the University's library, rather later than intended, she maintained a brisk pace. Uncommon for a woman of limited fitness.

Being mid-December in Oxford, the streets had a healthy layer of snow, along with ice. Many of the town's natives were only out to smoke, heading home or going to the pub. The latter is where Sophia was headed.

Finally arriving at the predetermined establishment, she darted into the warm shelter. Immediately, she went from frigid to boiling. Never could one have a happy medium. Cursing the woollen vestments off, she turned her sharp gaze to assess the layout.

Emily Fowler and Giles Underwood. The only two people whom she shared a familial connection with now. The clever sods had secured a brilliant table opposite the open fireplace and seemed to have already had their first round of drinks in their substantial wait.

Once she was in their line of sight, they smiled and called her over. She sat in the furthest seat from the blazing wood fire. And hung her coat over the back of it. Emily wordlessly went to the bar to order their usual and Giles pinned her with a questioning look.

''So, where were you this late in the evening? In your niche?''

Sophia laughed breathlessly and leaned on the shabby table with her elbows. She returned his gaze with her own - attempting to dissimulate her fatigue.

''In the niche. I know it's the last day of the term, but I just wanted to get a study schedule sorted, and I'm just off the phone from the Pharmacy. I've worked it out that I'm getting two weeks holiday.''

Giles finished off his pint. He deeply respected Sophia for her work ethic and determination, it had been her coping mechanism all those years ago after the accident, but he always reminded her that you can't run on empty and in the sixth gear.

''Soph, I'm glad to hear you're getting some time off. Patrick has been working you too hard. As though being a top medical student in Oxford isn't enough,'' he smirked as he offered her an admiring gaze.

Her cheeks slightly warmed. Before they could continue, Emily weaved her way back to their little enclave. Two beers for the two lushes, and a black espresso for the insomniac. Sophia beamed thankfully and sipped the espresso.

''So, the first day of the holidays! What shall we splash out tonight for?''

Emily buzzed, as she flicked through the leather menu. She always was a lightweight.

''I'm going for the champ, pork and veggies! Giles, Soph…?''

Sophia procured the menu from the flushed blonde and leaned against her.

''You know I think the scampi is calling to me, you know my weakness for tartar sauce,'' the bushy ebony haired student enthused, as the blonde woman hugged her.

Giles looked on in bemusement at his female friends.

Later that evening Sophia sat in their sitting room, flicking through old pictures on her tablet, regarding them through a glassy lens. It had been six years today since her parent's fatal accident. The 16th December 2008. She had only been 14, freshly started into her GCSE's. They had dropped her off to stay the week with Emily, a reward for getting into the top streams. On the drive home, it was assumed they had hit black ice and had careened into the field. Her family's' friends had prohibited the coffins to be open during their funeral. Part of her grieving process had been throwing herself into her school work, and everything boiled down to her achieving her full potential; it had been done in the hopes of pleasing her parents, even in their absence.

If it hadn't been for her best friends, now her only family. She wouldn't have developed in other regards.

Shutting down the gallery, she opened up her library and clicked on her current novel; A portrait of a lady, it had remained her favourite title among its genre. However, she couldn't bring herself to focus. Shutting the contraption down. Sophia exited the room and walked past Giles and Emily's bedroom to her own personal space. On her dresser was her brass locket, it had been gifted to Sophia on her 14th birthday. A 'family heirloom' her mother; Louise Prescott, had stated. Her parents had been quite unusual in many regards. Her mother had never spoken in detail about her parent's, and her father; Lawrence Prescott, was equally elusive. As far as Sophia was aware she had no blood relatives.

As Sophia looked on at the trinket; not for the first time, she appraised it.

It was conspicuously old albeit in excellent condition. And the clasp seemed to be broken, for numerous attempts had failed to open it. A delicate rose design raised itself on the front of it, surrounded by a ring of 'ivy' perhaps. Indeed, this single piece of jewellery was a connection to her family history. It raised more questions, then answered.

On one occasion a London jeweller appraised the piece and all the information he could offer was that it was made around the mid 18th century.

Putting the piece around her slim neck, she put her curls into a messy bun and slipped into bed.

After a while, the trinket emitted a strange hum.