The carriage was moving at full pace now. The
streets were dimly lit by light from the lamp posts; the night was a pitch darkness
that was creeping fast behind them. A young woman was the sole occupant, a fine
figure of English aristocracy. Miss Eliza sensed she was being followed but by
who or what remained unclear. The driver Mr Beatle, it seemed was unusually
quiet. The clock struck twelve adding to the eeriness of the atmosphere. Her heart
began to race as she clutched the piece of paper in her hand, as if for dear
life.
Miss Eliza awoke early that morning only to find her
new husband limp and lifeless in bed. It was then that she knew what she must
do. The prophecy, they were after it…and now that her husband was dead, she
must guard it with her being.
She stirred where she sat on the velvet sheets as if waking from a deep trance. The last of the clock’s chimes died down as the carriage came to an abrupt halt. A tight fear gripped her being. She found herself looking back, her face white with panic. She opened the door and stepping out, saw Mr Beatle a hundred years old, his skin paler than snow. His face contorting as if in pain, he limped aimlessly around what appeared to be tombs. A graveyard…Suddenly she knew what had happened; he was now their victim as she would soon be if she didn't get to the cathedral and hide there until daylight.
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