The Worcester Whisperers

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She paused beneath the archway of the old building, drawing the veil slowly down across her face, seeking to distance herself from the world into which she now entered.

This was not her first visit. During the past year she had ventured into the labyrinth of streets and alleyways on numerous occasions, seeking out the information she had required, fitting the fragments of the past together, ever discarding the lies and the deceitful, and always seeking to understand why it had come to this.

She remembered the first time she had entered this other, strange place, with its loud noises and never-ending activities, its overcrowded hovels, its lingering smells of decay and death; places where the thick sickly air had sought to encompass her within its darkness and choking vapour. On that first visit she had been easily repelled and had fled quickly from its streets, gaining the sanctuary and relief of the countryside, vowing never to return, and deciding to relinquish her quest before it had begun.

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