Where does our Virtuoso lie at the bottom of this despair? Through the city of a damned society living on a razors edge, on a cold and rainy London dusk. The future does not foretell the events of ones life, but promises a grave in the earth. Seeing no point in the in the sense this story is trying is trying to make is like trying to understand the chain of events stringed together by a curious Ms. Gray. The fools and wise men all have something in common, they listen. Let all attention be focused on the young Ms. Gray. Potential is certain and great things are surely to found in the deep confines of her mind. Let your expectations for the outcome of these chain of events be as open as your heart could be. Poor girls shouldn't go wondering through graves in Leichester square at the dead of night, let alone without a reason. Enter an elderly Ms. Dorian Winifred, one without a need for sympathy who lies in wait. It was certain that Ms. Gray would be attracted by the chipped stone of an ageless mausoleum. "Like a moth to flame, she will approach this place." Ms. Dorian - or what was left of her - proceeded to wait as she has done countless times. Ms. Gray, startled by the presence of Dorian stood still as the tombstones surrounding her. "Do not be frightened at the sight of what I once was, but take me for what I am now." This voice seemed to whisper thoughts into her mind, like a another concious of sorts. Ms. Dorian stood by the edge of the tomb, greeting the young Ms. Gray with an emotionless stare. Trails of makeup streamed down her face from the drizzle of London rain, appearing as if she had been crying, her black funeral dress stained with the dirt and rubble. "Return home to your mother child, ease her worrying." Ms. Gray was puzzled at the thought of how this old woman could possibly know the situation she was in. "I will only return to her in a coffin!" said Ms. Gray furiously, "The last thing she will see of me, are my bones!" Her torn and frayed dress riffled in the late breeze. Ms. Dorian let out a faint smile across her whethered face. "Dear, let something such as that be forgotten. Our bones last far beyond flowers and dust." Ms. Dorian turned and faded away into the midnight darkness. Ms. Gray, still puzzled, knelt down at the tomb to examine it. "Here lies Dorian Winifred Reed. Loving Mother, and wife." A fresh rose lay at the foot of drenched soil, untouched by time itself. Ms. Gray gently caressed the rose. Her blue eyes fixed on the thorns pricking her hands. At this point, a journey home seemed reasonable. So, with haste, she set off for home on the wet stone road from Leichester square, without a second thought of the events that occured in the small London cemetery. Even though someone may leave this world far behind, their heart and love stay forever.