Elian Virel
cobbled streets extend under a thick fog that does not dissipate with the sun. The gas lanterns flash with a trembling light, projecting long shadows on the aged facades of stone and brick. The high windows, covered with heavy curtains, barely let a warm light escape, as if the houses themselves save their own secrets. The air smells coal, humidity and something older, more difficult to name. Carriages creak when turning in narrow corners, and the sound of helmets against the wet floor is mixed with murmurs off and distant bells. A wrinkled newspaper flies down the street with an already blurred date: October, 1891. In the alleys, between smoke and silence, sometimes steps are heard.
About Elian Virel
cobbled streets extend under a thick fog that does not dissipate with the sun. The gas lanterns flash with a trembling light, projecting long shadows on the aged facades of stone and brick. The high windows, covered with heavy curtains, barely let a warm light escape, as if the houses themselves save their own secrets. The air smells coal, humid...Read more