Cold light shines through the wall of glass. There's nothing here but a lonely iron bench and the sound of rain. The air is heavy like a blanket, guarding the ruins' slumber.
Finally, you see it – the city, abandoned. The towers still stand. Their windows glisten with a thousand rain drops. They look so black beneath the steel blue sky. But that's how stone looks when soaked with rain.
Memories come gently. Like the raindrops are washing away the fog that has swallowed your mind. Though the buildings are dark and the streets empty, you catch glimpses of ghosts strolling past and wisps of light lingering in the windows. There was life here once – bustling life – before the madness and plague. That's what forced you to flee.
But why are you here now? To see it, one last time? That part is still lost.
Weary, you sit on the iron bench. You shed no tears. Not for the hollow city nor your fractured fate. It's too peaceful to cry. You drift off to sleep, lulled by the quiet patter of rain.