The night sky is tarnished green, like a fine patina on unpolished silver

Black lace covers her barometer eyes, measuring, gauging, judging his approach

The steam combustion of his existence burns, cogs and gears spinning

Huzzah, cheers the man, his monocle eye peers at her hourglass shape as she passes through his space and time

What skullduggery does he wish to partake?

Her mouth opens to scream but only a dirge from the pipe organ is heard

She crosses the cobblestone street, driven to separate their paths

Holding the veiled, bloodstained knife firmly in hand, she’s ready…should he choose to join her

She tugs the black lace further over her eyes, shading the glow from the gaslight

Rebuffed, he tips his ornate stove-pipe hat and moves on to his next victim

Empowered, she tips her well-coifed head toward the verdigris sky and does the same