London, 1888

Victorian Shadows

Advent of Night

About the Author



Devoid


I wish I had my eyes closed.

Then I’d know why I can’t see.

Everything is black, there’s no light, no shapes.

I’m blind.

And I don’t know where I am.


I’m sitting on a damp cold surface, my back against something hard; it feels like stone under my hands. Maybe I’m in a basement. I think I am alone, at least I can’t hear any sounds, in fact there’s no noise at all. It’s a perfect silence.

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