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“I— I don’t think you quite understand, Sir. There are things I can’t say. It’s not— it’s not that I wouldn’t say them, or that I don’t want to, I— I just— It’s not safe. I can’t— I can’t really give you any details that weren’t already in the police report, unless you just want emotions and...

She took another step back, really considering running, at this point. A journalist was a worst case scenario. There was so much that wasn’t quite safe to say out loud. So much about Michael’s death was still shrouded in mystery, even to her, and her attempts to share the details she did know...

Her eyes widened, and she looked quite terrified for a moment. She nodded nervously. She could only guess at which dark and terrible things he’d heard about her, and she didn’t want to be a curiosity to sate his morbid fascinations. Her expression shifted from that of fear to just general...

She took his hand, nervously pulling herself to her feet. Her dark eyes flitted this way and that, before finally landing on him. Edith pulled her hand back, quickly, her movements odd and jerky. “Sorry,” she said, “I’m— I’m just fine. Thank you for— thank you for the hand up.” She have a small...

She pulled a hat onto her head and buttoned up her coat as she stepped out onto the grey and dreary streets. The evening mist hung low and heavy in the air around her, and the world seemed like it was lying in wait, ready to spring back into motion at the slightest movement, but also content to...

((No, it’s perfect.)) Edith spent most of her time in the kitchens at Louise’s. Louise herself was an old family friend, which was most of the reason why Edith landed there job at all. It was a good job, she reckoned, and even though her parents acted like it was a shameful thing that she was...