The day bled into a long, cold evening. Augusta ran until her lungs burned and her legs, unaccustomed to such desperate exertion, felt so heavy. She had ran into the mazy alleys of Albion, leaving her life of silk and silver far behind, and now found herself in the commoner's part of the kingdom. The part of the world she had only ever looked down upon from the window of a fast-moving carriage.
The streets here were narrow, choked with mud and refuse. The air was thick with the smell of coal smoke, boiled cabbage, and grotty environment. Loud, rough laughter spilled from the open doors of low cost taverns, and the buildings here themselves seemed to lean against each other for support, their windows like tired, vacant eyes.
