A golden brilliance hung from the sky, encircled by a faint orange afterglow...
Flickering rays passed through the glass panes, dabbed with dark spots, leaves outside the window. Upon an ink bottle, they weaved, casting upon a shadowy pillar on the paper sheet beneath.
Ink trinkled out of the black bottle, following the unseen path of the paper's grain, guided by the sharp tip of a feather quill. Extending from it was a white-gloved hand, meticulously scribbling rows of words.
Eventually, the flowing river of black symbols etched on the parchment's surface was halted by a flowery signature â a gentle touch marking the letter's conclusion, "Signed, Honore Lou".
From there, a man on a stool, sat before an antique long table, stood up.
The slender figure in his late teens donned a white shirt with a black waistcoat and slacked pants, his face wore a lax expression, soft features accentuated by round gold-rimmed glasses, and lastly adorned with curling locks of dark-brown hair. Setting the quill aside on a spare sheet, the young man left the letter's ink to dry.
After adjusting the papers, he then adjusted his shirt followed by his glasses. The man grabbed a rounded hat and a beige swing coat from an adjacent rack. He then grabbed two pieces of bread from a loaf plated on the table. Exiting his house, he locked the compact-wooden door.
Chirp, says the bird. Woof, greet the dog. Honore Lou responded with a smile, leaned down, and petted the brown golden retriever. On its collar, the name "Toast" was engraved.
He laid down a piece of bread, feeding the dog. Clumping off small pieces and crumbs, he shared a portion to the chirping birds.
Exiting the lawn, he bade them farewell, opening the lead gate barring his home...
Outside, the two-story red-bricked building covered by a gabled roof, along with its ornate arched windows, occupied his view. From there, he walked on the pavement after locking the gate. Pedestrians, horse-drawn carriages, wagons, and carts passed him by on the cobble streets.
A light chill blanketed his body from the sun's warmth as a cold breeze swept by, gray clouds visible on the horizon. The tree-lined road greeted the man with a cozy, silent welcome.
Along the trees were towering buildings of grand exterior, boasting intricate engravings on their structure.
Residential district cointains apartments, inns, and houses, boasting dormer roofs, balconies, and spacious gardens and plots of land, often, they are encased by looming concrete walls, barred with iron railings and patrolled by guards.
Commercial district buildings such as parlors, salons, museums, schools, and churches similarly affirm their status within the city by showing off their grandeur through exaggerated and unique architecture, though such extravagance can also be found within the townsfolk.
This stemmed from the ol' nobility, flaunting their status and seeking validation from the eyes of the public, laying the foundation for a rather pricey tradition, thus, giving birth to the small city of Beaumont...
"Three Chips, Seven Pence; From this street to the south tavern." A manly voice named his price â a coachman driving a horse-drawn carriage.
"Alright." Honore Lou withdrew silvery coins with denominations of one, five, and ten and paid. In terms of financing, 'Chips' is a slang for ten pence or ten pennies, hence, he paid a sum of 37 pence for the ride.
Although for higher transactions, 'Quints' are used, a paper bill equivalent to fifty in pennies instead. Both the bill and the coin comes in denominations of 1, 2, 5, 10, 20, and 25...
He intended to head downtown and meet his father, Theodore Lou, in place of his older brother, Hubert Polle, on a tavern located an hour away on foot.
He needed to pick up the money provided by his father for sustenance.
In order to survive, Honore and his brother were arranged to live in the red bricked house owned by his father's friend so that he could work and ensure their livelihood.
He lead a simple and quiet life, following a strict rule of passiveness.
In the capital, his father earned money by working as a civil sevant and journalist, occasionally dropping by to talk and provide them support, but in instances that he could not visit, the brothers were to head downtown for the south tavern.
There, the tavernkeep is acquainted with his father, thus, allowing for a safer transaction. This is due to the fact that Beaumont is relatively distant from the capital where Theodore is in, hence, banks are not as connected and cannot allow for a simpler exchange
Relative to time, his father manages a visit evey four months of the 13-month calendar, appearing atleast three times a year...
Tap. Tap.
The horse's shoe rhythmically clocked against the cobble road, followed by the metallic sound of the carraige's wheels, periodically interrupted by the chattering of passersby.
In the same way, the monotony of sloping roofs is broken by arched ceilings and towering structures such as the clock tower.
In the same way, the surrounding light gradually faded into darkness.
...
Entering a tunnel, the surrounding blur of people and buildings were slowly overshadowed by the massive structure.
Concrete walls of bricks and dust replaced the bustling scene of the small city, barely visible thanks to the ambient lighting provided by the sunlight, reflecting upon the environment.
Silhouettes of lamps pasted on the walls occasionally peeked through, conserving fuel for the night, they were unlit.
Honore Lou leaned back into his seat. He found the shade of the tunnel comforting. Having lived most of his life in this city, and having memorized this path downtown, this tunnel has been naturally engraved into his mind.
He recalled his first time traversing this path. He recalled the situation of their family, and his brother's image. Lastly, he recalled their weakness and willingness to aid their father, hoping they could retire him one day and reunite.
Although Honore did not want to admit his reliance on his father, he could also only wish for their peace to last longer, never knowing when the pillar of their home will collapse.
...
Exiting the tunnel, the horse-drawn carriage was surrounded by patches of green.
Tall trees branched over the now dirt-soil road, covering the sun with dark spots of leaves, and providing a cold overlay.
Honore gazed up through the window, the sky covered by a good portion of gray. From there, his gaze drifted down, tracing a pillar of smoke connected to the graying sky.
On the horizon, a tinge of reddish orange was smeared over the outline of downtown city...