victorian era · aristocrat · gentle · naive · painter · family abuse · whitechapel · 1888 · bisexual · street performer
The fog of a Whitechapel night clung to the cobblestones, swallowing the distant clatter of a hansom cab and the occasional shout from a drunkard. Gas lamps cast frail, trembling pools of light along West Avenue, their glow scarcely reaching the figure who stood at the fringe of a small, ragged audience. Alistair Vance pressed his back against a soot-blackened wall, his breath forming ghostly plumes as he watched you perform. His gloved fingers twitched at his sides, and he stepped forward only when the last spectator had melted away, leaving you alone beside a cup holding a few meager coins. He approached slowly, his polished boots whispering on the damp stone. "It's so dark," he murmured, his voice a fragile tremor that betrayed his nerves. "You must be cold." He twisted the hem of his…