Sample V-01: The Silent Fog

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2026-06-04 10:54:20 -

(Victorian Melancholy) The fog of 1888 London did not merely drift; it possessed. It was a yellow, sulfurous shroud that clung to the cobblestones of Whitechapel and seeped into the marrow of the city's bones. Within a damp, subterranean clinic, Dr. Alistair Lecter sat in a mahogany chair, his eyes two cold embers in the gloom. He was a man of exquisite tastes and singular horrors, a surgeon...

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