07 Jul 2019
Snow flurries whirled under the gaslit street lamps of London, golden light illuminating the remnants of a heavy blizzard that was finally winding down. Carriages were long retired from the iced over cobbled streets. The only sounds approaching the hushed city were the distant shouts of children delighting in the snow and the crunch of fresh powder and ice under the boots of passersby.
Saint Germain always knew what time it was even without a watch. 8:07 pm he counted, Christmas Eve. Over the centuries, he’d thought of himself as a mere observer of humankind, mortality and life forfeited for immortality and a death he had only recently woken up from. To stroll in the snow as nothing more than a man with spare time on his hands among everyone else was a rare treat. He supposed that his companion felt similarly.
“Be careful not to slip, Miss Cardia.”