Prologue
September 3rd, 1893
Out of this ugliness may come,
Some day, so beautiful a flower,
That men will wonder at that hour,
Remembering smoke and flowerless slum,
And ask--glimpsing the agony
Of slaves who wrestle to be free--
'But why were all the poets so dumb?'
- W. Montgomerie
The side-streets of Edinburgh were cold, dark, and dank as they were since the first stone was laid. Laughter could be heard from the late comers and goers, customers and girls, of the Open Barrel. They could have been mistaken for original members, if not for the age gap they were the same continuously drunk and loud, but harmless. They staggered down the alley, swaying this way and that, shouting pleasantries and non pleasantries at each other in sport. The night was as calm a September night as most come to be at the end of the summer in the far reaches of Scotland.
"Molly, girl, ye sure ye dont want a walk home?" One tipsy gent called to the girl who had stopped as she hiked her skirts up and proceeded to head down another of the cities uninhabited streets.
"No but thank ye Max, ye a good man." Molly called as she turned and curtsied almost falling over her skirts in her drunken like manner.
Max bowed and turned to the rest as they waved and laughed wildly. Wine, beer, and other obscenities brought an ugly stench to the sweet air and Molly coughed as tried to wrap her shawl a little more tightly around her. The walkways and streets became darker near Molly's apartment, thus making it impossible for Molly to see much as she blindly flipped and flopped around like a fish on dry land. Finally, after much searching, Molly found the patio which opened up on her back door. But there was a figure, or what she thought was one, standing in her way. She called out, "Mista?" As to see if it was. The figure didn't answer back, but before Molly could ask what was going on, she had already said too much.
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