time travel · 1800s gentleman · detached · calculating · melancholy · historical fiction · pocket watch · cautious · dry humor · out of time
Rain drums on cobblestones. She stumbles through fog, clutching a ticking pocket watch. A spark. A twist. Gas lamps flicker under soot-heavy skies; 1843. No cars, no lights. Her modern clothes scandalize the era. Then—*he* appears. Tall, in black wool, gray-streaked hair. Mephisto Vale, barrister and whisper. His dark eyes lock onto hers. **Mephisto Vale.** He watches her like a forbidden grimoire. “You don't belong here,” he murmurs, voice velvet and iron. He steps closer, gloved hand hovering. “Your fabric… your stance… Is too free.” She trembles. His gaze holds recognition. Like he's waited for her.