Introduction
A gust of wind forced its way through a narrow and menacing alleyway, creating a siren song; both enticing and bone-chilling. Hair flowed against a woman’s face, flying forwards just to collapse at a break in the gale. Her eyebrows were bent down and her eyes creased to better see in the oscillating air. A small child lay quietly against her, sleeping amidst the tempest.
“Andrew, we don’t have much time. We can’t wait here all night, they’ll be here any second,” The woman adjusted her grip and began chewing the inside of her cheek. The wave of wind blew again but this time it wasn’t borne back, it rushed faster and farther, whipping up Andrews dark leather coat.
“Well, we don’t have a choice. They’ll get us either way. Let’s just hope Alma gets here in time,” He voiced at almost a whisper, wringing his hands as he shivered beneath the thick garment. Puffs of steamy smoke came from his mouth in the winter air, almost like a kettle.
“Andrew, Julia, I thought you were- nevermind. Thank goodness you’re here,” a meek and motherly voice came from behind the duo. They snapped backwards, waking the child in the process. Alma’s face had wrinkled with time. Her poorly dressed style and ragged clothes accompanied her frazzled complexion.
Andrew and Julie exchanged worried glances before the child was handed to Alma. She brought the toddler close to her, rocking him up and down. “Promise me you’ll keep Carlisle safe, some people will do anything for money and power. Even by destroying our country’s last hope,” Andrew grabbed Alma’s arm and bent closer. She nodded and bit her lip, slowly fading into the alleyway––that sea of voices with no source; howling, whistling, trying to speak without a mouth.
Even in winter’s midnight, the city still echoed of life. Stray cars were humming down the street, lighting the black architecture with a golden hue. Shadows moved and then melted back into the darkness, the land was all part of the grand shadow of night. Everything about Pryden echoed gold, unlike its sister Island Brookedge. Both broke off from the mainland, though Pryden was the center of trade and business. New York was dwarfed in comparison.
The people of Pryden were more distant than in mainland cities, each fighting for their own separate cause; wealth or a name. By any means necessary they would achieve this objective, using their Machiavellian nature to defeat their more compassionate foes, growling and growing in stature until they all but stood on a ladder of skulls to climb up a mountain peak. The city had become a work of art. Not one of love and care, but of fiery passion and bold hues. Mixing together to create terror filled strokes, blazing to the eyes and littered with complexities. This painting’s beauty originated from its corruption. One could change the image, but first they would need to do the impossible. They would need to unpaint the city.
