The carraige trundled over the cobbelstone, the glass rattling in the windows. It had been a week now since I had seen the sky; a week since the fog had taken over the valley. The streetlamps stood constantly lit, the night watchmen on full-time duty. The murky air had led to murky happenings, with robberies, murders and other dark occurences on the rise.
I breathed on the window and drew a star in the mist, my finger gathering grime. This was not one of the better carraiges, with sealed windows against draughts and soft seats, but the cheapest we could rent without looking disgraceful. I straightened my dress and swallowed nervously as we pulled up outside the large town house...
Possibly the beginning of a great historical romance. Or perhaps a spooky story in a dark parallel wold.
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