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revenans | for morsdecorus

Night. September, 1888.

The rain lashing against windows and cobbled pavement had ceased to a drizzle before subsiding altogether. Only minutes before had aspiring gales swept themselves shrieking through channels and corridors and doorways, slamming windows, rattling the roof tiles of an resolute, dissolute London.

He would never have come out in this weather, hating rain in the same manner as melting snow -- the two had a tendency to reduce him to a saturated, peevish mess -- as he recoiled at the way the remnants of the shower latched on to fabric which then adhered to skin.

Most had gone indoors; soaked evening dresses being most distressing and unwanted. The veins of the city were emptied and flushed out with water. There was an acrimony in this he could have appreciated but

Something was bothering him, which clung like a shadow to the edge of his thoughts. Gregory pressed on, weaving through the same streets with only the faintest inkling of general directions. His heeled soles plunged into puddles with the gravity of crashing thunder. Slender hands tucked into trouser pockets, head bowed, his ubiquitous hood casting an obscuring darkness upon his pale visage.

Abruptly he stopped at a nondescript street and a sigh escaped him even as he sought to catch his breath. Distressed, and it was only the first trimester of his final year. Bad beginnings were always ominous.

#sorry this took so long #morsdecorus #revenans