✗XVIII✗

[king_no_life]

A white cloth spreads out on the ground and rapidly turns dirty, where dusts of soot clutch themselves to every exposed object. There is a dinginess in a London fog--it darkens with a smoky, sulphurous scent, and overwhelms with a thick.. garroting sensation.

Senses of a lone patron dull in seas of mists.. Blind to the specters that sail them.

It's perfect.