The moon, a waxing gibbous, rose over the elegantly aged city of London and brought with it mist and a light drizzle. The few stars that could be seen through the mist and the smoke of the factories seemed dimmer than usual, like they were only half-awake. Most Londoners took shelter during this hour, and most of those that didn't-or couldn't- made due with hiding under whatever shade they could find to block out the rain.
Again, if they could. Some, for whatever reason, found themselves rather stuck in the middle of the dreary weather. One such person was a child of short height and scrawny stature, finding their self to be shoveling away in a graveyard, awkwardly posed so that all of their weight was on their right foot. Their left foot was placed awkwardly behind so that they were frequently tripping and landing in the muddy ground beneath them.
Aside from the rags they wore, the child was of distinct appearance. Covering their face was a number of nasty scars, one which pulled their mouth into a permanently crooked smile, and another that forced one eyelid to droop slightly. The child was so thin that it was a wonder that they could fall to the ground and not shatter into a million pieces. Their skin was so pale that they could easily lie in the snow of Winter and never be seen by even the keenest of eyes.
As the child dug away at the grave, making good progress to the corpse below, they coughed incessantly. Their whole body shook with each cough, as if each one was a punch to the gut. As the moon arched further along the night sky the child continued to dig, and eventually met the coffin underneath the earth. With a relieved sigh they backed up, and put down their shovel. Rolling their shoulders, they sat on the edge of the open grave and slid down into the depths below, boots landing with a soft 'thump' on the coffin.
Again, if they could. Some, for whatever reason, found themselves rather stuck in the middle of the dreary weather. One such person was a child of short height and scrawny stature, finding their self to be shoveling away in a graveyard, awkwardly posed so that all of their weight was on their right foot. Their left foot was placed awkwardly behind so that they were frequently tripping and landing in the muddy ground beneath them.
Aside from the rags they wore, the child was of distinct appearance. Covering their face was a number of nasty scars, one which pulled their mouth into a permanently crooked smile, and another that forced one eyelid to droop slightly. The child was so thin that it was a wonder that they could fall to the ground and not shatter into a million pieces. Their skin was so pale that they could easily lie in the snow of Winter and never be seen by even the keenest of eyes.
As the child dug away at the grave, making good progress to the corpse below, they coughed incessantly. Their whole body shook with each cough, as if each one was a punch to the gut. As the moon arched further along the night sky the child continued to dig, and eventually met the coffin underneath the earth. With a relieved sigh they backed up, and put down their shovel. Rolling their shoulders, they sat on the edge of the open grave and slid down into the depths below, boots landing with a soft 'thump' on the coffin.
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