Karen Smith

The Bridge

Her footfalls were soft, barely audible beneath the numbing sleet that slay the surrounding streets and buildings; drowned out further by the occasional carriage wheels and horse hooves pelting against the sand embedded cobblestones. It was a bitter coldness that fell upon London this evening, and it came not only from the miserable weather. It emanated from something so innocent and fragile looking as a delicately built young woman, dressed in finery that indicated considerable wealth, striking in appearance when considered against the darkening, river misted dreariness of her surroundings.