The Comtessa. Poor soul.

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From: Crossing a bridge late at night


Down there in the dark, she was alone at the end but for her mad clay lover. Who will remember her?


Success

Who will remember her?

You will. It's pretty, at night, with the blue gas-lamps of the Embankment reflecting in the river below, but all you can see just now is the look of fear in the Comtessa's green eyes. You shake it off […] you'll always carry her face with you.

[Find the rest of the story at https://www.fallenlondon.com]