On the Surface, a man of family and distinction,
a man of opportunities lost from indiscretions reveled in.

Curiosity did not kill; it destroyed.

Below, a man clothed in shadows and mist, a man of few words but many dreams.

...

A life, just different.

Or is it?

On the streets of Fallen London;
his cravat immaculate, not so his mind.
 
Cracks are starting to appear. The facade is diminishing.
Walls covered in letters of unknown origin and hidden meaning,
a cypher not meant to be broken.

Yet he tries.

...

In his wake ;

the sweet and musky scent of opium,and the bitter fragrance of old regrets.
Before him;

profane discoveries, sacred atrocities and a promise of otherness.

He feels...


...strangely welcome.

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