She was lying in the dark alone, listening as rain trickled through the roof and fell like whispering laughter into the rusted pot and cracked bucket she’d placed to catch it, when she decided to steal her neighbours’ luck.

She had tried to get more the honest way, with hard work and what small charms she could afford. But it had to be true what all the travellers had started to say, soft as chilling rain – there just wasn’t any luck left for fate to hand out so freely. They had all been unlucky enough to be born as its fingers scraped the bottom of its purse, which meant that, whatever good they wanted in the world, they would have to take from each other.

She had tried not to think of it. But when water had started leaking through the bottom of her wash bucket, just one more unlucky thing among so many, the thoughts had started leaking through as well.

They all had more luck to spare than she. If she was careful, they might not even notice a little missing here and there. Just enough to get by, that was all she needed. Enough coin to fix the roof, enough health for her ailing old cow to start giving milk again. Not enough to hurt anyone. Just enough to put her back on her feet, just as much as fate owed her, surely, and then, she promised the laughing whispers in the roof, then she would be happy with her lot.