The Fog of Blood and Lace
The London fog of 1892 was not merely weather; it was a shroud, a grey, suffocating blanket that erased the boundaries between the opulent mansions of Belgravia and the rotting tenements of the East End. Arthur walked through this spectral landscape, his boots clicking rhythmically on the damp cobblestones. He was a "Cleaner" for the Circle of Pure Blood, a secret society of aristocrats who...
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