[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/BmobFGo.png[/img][/center][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][right][sub][sub][h2][i][b]two weeks later[color=2e2c2c]........[/color][/b][/i][/h2][/sub][/sub][color=black]▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃[color=2e2c2c]....[/color][/color]
[sup][sup][i]&& the snow has begun to fall . . .[/i][/sup][/sup] [/right][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][center][color=lightgray]___________________________________________________________________________________[/color][/center]
[indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][indent][color=af9fa7]	The chill had come with an offset of rain. 

	The deluge was heavier than normal in the morning light and gradually waned towards the thick and humid airs of a struggling afternoon where only the smallest rays of the sun were permitted to peek through the perpetual grey curtain of The Badlands. The warranting season had come as it always did: with little warning and sharp winds that whistled through spires and howled low betwixt alley ways and rattled panes of glass and steel. The river was beginning to recede into the bubbling waves of a winter brook, where polar fog churned lazily along the slopes. The city was thus an artist's induction of a grey-mapped photograph framed in black glass and painted with only the smallest touches of deadened blue.

	A week prior, the skies had been awash in flurries that brushed soft against skin and clung to the streets before the warmth of the asphalt and rubber would wash them away into the gutters. It was a prelude of the season to come that would descend upon the city in the frigid breath of Winter and encapsulate the city in the wonders of ice and snow. But even on the most peaceful landscapes of snow-capped spires, the sky would eternally be eclipsed by the grey and black of the skies of the wintertime. Only one night and day would they impart, briefly, to reveal crystalline blue wherein the air was slight and crisp, unburdened by taint of smog and metallic residue. Such had not occurred in years, but The Badlands continued to celebrate festivities of the later years nearly every month, and even carried on those traditions into the warmth of Spring.

	Rain falls eternally here, but the locale refused to allow their lives to be convinced to be done otherwise. And whilst hearts here weigh heavy and souls are burdened by the soot of ashen pain and woe, they still found and discovered endeavors to keep eyes alight in wonder and joy. 

	The following week had been stricken in a fever by the preceding of The Badland's most coveted affair. What once had been a whispered event by newsletter and rumor had now become the social necessity since the College had expanded the doors to teaching histories by the sanction of The United Mythos' teachings and manuscripts written and delegated by the seemingly most eligible bachelor within city now -- Patrick Montreyu.    

	Since the highlighting of the [i]gala[/i], the Paramorlian Histories Museum had received a phalanx of curious investors and those desiring to reap the benefits of the fundraiser and the private collections of many artifact aficionados that had, for a moment, allowed interviews and slight guesses to their donations. Most of all, the solicitation had been beneficial to the curious eyes and minds of particular individuals daily scouring the papers for these documented revelations and the most important and focal of family names that had been privy to the press. Two weeks had flown by in immediate and careful preparation, execution done swiftly and efficiently with little trail to pin point their motives.

	It was all playing well into hand, and that, of course was almost [i]too good to be true.[/i]

	Upon the fall of an early and spiteful season, something had shifted, just so, upon the ambiance of the alighted soiree. Upon an axis, tilted, smudged just so in a color of red that prompted the host of the event to nearly double his security upon the currently renovated floor that was being prepared for the newest exhibit. The Atis was being the lauded center piece of the entire [i]gala[/i] and upon further translation of the pages, the winds seemed that much colder, and flames all the more brighter, and the coming winter suddenly reaped in a ominous telling that afflicted the most prominent players at hand.

	Carefully, one man looked yonder upon the glass of his office and panned his gaze low, the light of a text searing his eyes and bringing with it, a pained smile.

	Across the city, a woman worked peacefully among her blooming greenhouse, dirt smudged adoringly upon her cheek and brow; hair tucked high and loose. The rain fell heavily, as it always does, but the grey and black of the storm did nothing to darken the glimmering blue of her eyes and the book to her left that was a glow in warming tones where the pages seemed, suddenly, very much [i]alive[/i].
[/color] [/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent][/indent]
[center][color=lightgray]___________________________________________________________________________________[/color][/center]