xx-Dreamlike Despair


December, 1810, London, England

We are taught from childhood, the rules of society. The etiquette, the fashion, and the comportment, but Mothers and Nursemaids also taught us about the dangers and sins. Grief, was looked down upon, no one could get too attached.

An old wives tale is told from birth, a warning to all who let their mask's slip and become a feeling member of the ton. Every night, the streets of London were not safe to solitary travelers, never be caught abroad after dark in town, the women whispered to their charges. The Weepers walk at night.

Supposedly, when a person lost someone they had given their heart to, in any way, their heart broke and they lived a half life, eternally searching for someone to mend their hearts, they hid as the sun came out, but, once it set, they roamed free once more. That, was why no one fell in love anymore, and love matches were always bad luck.

I fell in love with her.

We were already contracted to be married, a merge between old money and new, and she was the most exquisite thing I had ever seen. The candlelight shone through her honey colored hair and I was ready to forsake my fiancée, until I realized the beautiful creature before me was my betrothed.

We danced, we dined, we took walks in the park, and at the close of the season, we were to be married.

"James, where is my stock?" I asked, frantic, my wedding day had arrived.

"Young master, calm yourself, I have seen all three of your brothers married off and none of them were this frantic," my father's manservant answered.

I whirled around to receive the white linen, "Ah, but this is the most important day of my life." I had been reading too much Byron at the time.

Two hours later everything had been prepared, the guests assembled, the wedding party at the ready, but she was missing, my bride was taking far too long. We waited, and waited, until finally someone had the brains to go to her house and ask for her. The man came back, bride less. "This was left for you." He said, handing me a piece of parchment addressed with my name.

It simply said,

I've eloped with William, I'm sorry.

I banged my fist against one of my mother's prized tables, but I was only twenty, I couldn't handle it. I stalked off, out of the house and down to the Thames.

Sometime later I awoke, filthy, walking the streets, mumbling words I couldn't understand and occasionally releasing a moan, surrounded by others just like me, though different genders, time periods, and social status may have been apparent, the emotion that rippled through our mob was the same.


And I couldn't even remember my name, I could only replay every moment of our courtship over and over again.

A/N Well, I've just read Neverwhere by Neil Gaimon and I have been listening to London Cemeteries a ton by Coldplay. This is the result. Oh and the story won't be told from his view, just this chapter, well maybe I'll do a couple from his view, we'll see how you like it. Oh and don't worry, AH! Is still coming along.