" Mila looks, eyes on the calligraphic cursive, an arrow pointing ahead."Well, we can't not go," Emmett postulates. Now she laughs."You have to be kidding," she repeats, this time to his suggestion. Emmett grins."I'll never be able to sleep unless we find out where this goes." You're serious?" "As the plague," he says, taking Mila's hand and tugging her along. The moment it's decided, another far-off street lamp illuminates, showing the way.Acid.That's the best explanation Mila can conjure as they pass four more light posts, bare feet unbothered by the snow, following signs that point to a destination straight from a children's story. How it got in their system is another question with no answer in sight.The next light multiplies to a cluster, the largest ones yet, confirming her assumption. There's no way a three-story estate is packed into this basement, no matter how unfathomably proportioned.Built on a square foundation, the large brick house is elegant and homey, the dozen front. The cabin was an indulgence of his, not that he needed it; he lived close by, but there was a certain feeling that came with the ability to pretend (even for a brief moment) that he was someone else, living in a time long past.He quietly walked inside and left his container with the spare parts inside the door, grabbed his Rattan Long Sword and belted its scabbard over his tunic, inserting the mock sword and setting the weight were he liked it on his boney hips. Then with a sort of reverence, drew out his prizes from the leather sporran; tokens he wore every day, one from a queen, 2 from Barons (1 given for service and the other for friendship) and one from the lady. Every man has their sense of pride; and with him it was these small sorts of things that most failed to make note of. Equipment given in kindness, trinkets exchanged in friendship, tokens to bear; mementos and marks of friends, a few new, some old, and some for those gone to the hereafter. The persons were what he.
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