1 Relief

The streets of London were lined with citizens pacing back and forth through the streets, some staying longer than others in the dismal pouring rain. The beautiful sky seemed long gone behind the dull, lifeless clouds, much like the color drained from the once bright city. The black stone streets seemed flooded, much like the hustle and chatter around.

"What's happening?"

"He's dead!?"

"Where is-"

"Step aside everyone," shouted a British girl, tensely. The elder teenager's bright brown hair was damp from standing out in the rain for hours, waiting for her friend. "There is to be no granted permission for entering Cross Manor until I get to the bottom of this," she commanded to a fairly young adult male, dressed as her attendant.

"By your word, Mistress Cross." The young woman turned to the large grey doors behind her, a shaky breath escaping into the cold air as she stepped towards it. The large crowd now behind her were still flooding her with questions, overwhelming her shattering head and chest. Without hesitation, she inched open the doors, revealing the grand hallway inside.

The interior of the Manor was beautiful; floors lined with red carpets, silver chandeliers lined evenly across the ceiling and large doorways scattered across the walls. The crystal lights seemed blinding compared to the world outside, darkness already having devoured all of London. The doors closed behind her, unaided, as she trailed across the room, removing her soft cream scarf and her jet black beret. She looked up towards the chandeliers, her deep green eyes as empty as ever, leaning back onto the door, feeling the tears start to swell.