Story 1168: Rain on the Gaslight Streets

The rain never stopped in Gallowmere Quarter. It fell in endless sheets, a cold, whispering deluge that made the cobbled streets glisten like black glass. The gaslights flickered amber behind their soot-stained globes, casting halos that quivered in the downpour like dying memories.

Clara Veil pulled her tattered coat tighter and stepped from the alley into the mist-drenched road. The hem of her dress dragged through puddles slick with oil and something darker. Above her, iron balconies creaked under the weight of creeping ivy and watchful gargoyles.

She had followed the melody here—a child’s lullaby, hummed in reverse, echoing through storm drains and chimneys. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard it.

But tonight, it was closer.