I went walking around the perimeter of the city, today. I'd scarcely noticed where I was going, when I was surrounded by fog. I nearly decided to keep on, but I heard the horrible hissing of an animal I did not recognize and instead, turned and ran. I didn't stop until I'd reached the front entrance of my home and noticed that the hem of my dress was torn and caked in mud.
After a bath and some tea, I've found it hard to remember why I wanted to go walking in the first place. Something in the fog...something about it draws me in. It seems almost supernatural, and as utterly daft as it sounds, sometimes I get this feeling that I've dealt with things of that nature before. Of different times and places. That where I used to live, I worked with...things I can't even being to explain.
It can't be true, though, can it? Where else could I have been beside this place? I've lived in London my entire life.
I should really worry less about mysterious fogs and more about finding a husband.
Oddly, I feel as though I've got one already. Must be wishful thinking.