In corners, unseen, untouched, un—holy, a space amidst houses coiled and twisted in manners erratic. It was evil, as so, was it unnatural.
Mists of stygian coursed, loud. It breathed. It seeped into homes rent and sundered and tarnished.
It was abandoned. No one dared to live there any longer. To dwell in such a place. This place of sinful history and aêtheric pollution.
Forsaken, did not mean barren. Voices echoed. Two distinct tones rang within an empty street, pavement cracked until the earth beneath showed.
"Are you sure he's here?" Amilia asked, coated, white and black, almost like a winter-coat.
A lampost lingered above, a lone light within the coursing tenebrous fluids.
Though, she felt the darkness here was. . . feeble.
She had, and still, lurked in darker realms, more cruel blacks. No, it was the cold—scarcity of heat and warmth like the icy choke of death.
It truly scared her.
