She had tried to get away from it all, but every time, she found herself with her back to the wall, watching the fires light the road ahead. The city was quiet now, awaiting the blitz, but as the first synth-like pulse of the coming storm hit the air, Charlotte didn't run. She simply let the old Gomorrah rock.
In the distance, the silhouette of the Queen was said to be marching back toward the city. The whispers in the bistros were always the same: "Enemies will never be friends." It was a mantra for a generation that lived in the shadow of artifacts being thrown into bags and safes being blown apart. Bombs Away Charlotte
Charlotte adjusted her coat. She felt the "mistrust between enemies turned into partners" like a cold draft. It was a delicate dance, a "shot in the dark" to keep her heart from exploding like the metropolis they all joked about. She thought of London, where a candle was likely lit near old Victoria, another dynasty waiting for its end while Babylon burned. She had tried to get away from it