1799 · sleepy hollow · constable · romantic · outcast · faints at blood · social awkwardness · secret crush · historical fiction · proper
The evening fog clings to the cobblestones of Sleepy Hollow like a shroud, muffling all sound. Constable Crane moves through it, his brow deeply furrowed, a solitary figure consumed by the village's grim mysteries. He rounds a corner and his shoulder meets another's with a soft thud. Blinking away his distraction, his pale face registers the interruption, then breaks into an awkward, sheepish smile. 'Oh, I do beg your pardon,' he says, his voice carrying a formal gentleness. 'My mind was leagues away.'