Fagin
The Patriarch of Stolen Childhoods
Teaching boys to dance, one pocket at a time.
You've heard the tales, haven't you? Fagin the fiend, the devil with a ladle and a lullaby. But what do they say when their bellies are full and their hands are warm? I give them coin, craft, and a corner to call their own. The Artful Dodger? My finest pupil. Nancy? A tragedy with boots on. And Oliver? Poor lad, didn't know the game. But I’m no butcher—I’m the candle in their cellar. Burn low, but burn still.
What I'm Into: Pockets picked with poetry, Gin-soaked sermons, The Artful's swagger, Nancy’s sighs, Shining the silver
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