How to describe that flourishing populace? It was so utterly modern, so different from the rural hamlets that we had haunted for so many years. I experienced complete culture shock for the first time in my life. Everywhere that I turned, people swarmed, enticingly warm and fragrant. Society ladies walked stately past the dirty urchin flower vendors, their skirts held aloft, noses tilted condescendingly, silk and lace whispering about their fashionable figures. Men slept in garbage strewn alleys, drunk on cheap whiskey, while their ragged children played among mangy street dogs. At the same time, in other parts of the city, fine gentlemen dressed meticulously and fashionably in their well cut waistcoats, and spotless cravats, and rode to magnificent events in carriages drawn by sleek horses. The everyday customs and manners of this place and time were so completely foreign to me. We were barbarians compared to these people, with our torn, filthy clothing and long, matted hair. As I pondered all of this, Morgan, ever practical, was more concerned about finding a relatively quiet cemetery in which we might spend our days. I am sure that you can imagine the reaction of a human mourner, upon spotting two revenant vampires crawling inside a rotting crypt at dawn. That kind of attention we could not afford to attract. And so, while I was gaping at my surroundings like a peasant in a palace, Morgan was calmly assessing a large crypt of crumbling stone, surrounded by a low, wrought iron fence. This part of the cemetery had fallen into disrepair, and was rumored to be haunted, so it was ideal for privacy, at least. Apparently satisfied, Morgan opened the low iron gate before the tomb, easily snapping the fragile lock, and entered. After a moment, I followed him into the stinking gloom within. I felt an odd sort of comfort upon once more joining the realm of the dead. It seemed that we belonged there, no longer alive ourselves. Morganâ??s white cheek gleamed dully in the dim moonlight that filtered into this murky sepulcher. Without the slightest hesitation, he snapped the latch of a nearby coffin- so ridiculous, to lock a coffin- and lifted the heavy lid. I winced at the sudden rush of noxious air from within, as the stench of decaying flesh, turbid and heavy, filled the tiny room. I could almost taste it. However, I was accustomed to it, and it did not bother me for very long. With a practiced gesture of one powerful arm, he tipped it to one side, letting the putrid remains fall indifferently to the floor. The rotted skull broke open like a melon against the stone, and a revolting, obsidian fluid leaked out. Insects scurried from the corpse in every direction, avoiding our feet as if they somehow sensed danger. Morgan righted the coffin, studying the stained white satin for a long moment. "Aren't you going to find a place to sleep?" he asked finally, meeting my gaze. After a minute, I went to a second coffin, older than the first, and meticulously cleaned out its contents, leaving the moldering skeleton in a heap in the corner. I then climbed inside, and stared up at the low roof. "Do you care for the city?" asked Morgan, abruptly. I thought about it before replying, propping myself on one elbow to look at him. "I like the fog... " I paused, and then added, "but I feel â?¦ out of place." He uttered a short sound of amusement, his eyes darker than the crypt that we lay in. Even covered in filth and blood, he was beautiful. His every gesture spoke of a fluid, violent grace. I might have felt out of place, but he looked even moreso; he seemed made to run with wolves rather than men. Among these London gentlemen, with their genteel manners, and almost effeminate habits, he was brutal by comparison, with his predatory way of moving and powerful build. "It is almost dawn," he commented. "I know." The last that I saw of him that night was his white hand, raised to close the lid. I followed suit, encapsulating myself in the fetid darkness. (Created with Ravenscarred)