AUSTERITY.

"I was starting to think you weren't going to show up," the Lord smirked, standing in the middle of his grand foyer still covered in the drying life-blood of the unfortunate sod who dared stir his anger. Dorian was unapologetic appearing before Charles in this state, men like him had a particular taste that Dorian was more than happy to cater to. "I do apologize for the inconvenience, but you are the only one I can turn to these days for times like this."

Charles could not be certain what awaited him upon answering the young immortal’s call, but he had an inkling it would be something stimulating; this was Dorian, after all, and one of only a small few reasons why Charles would ever so much as consider agreeing to such a spontaneous request for his presence. London ran on a tight schedule; everything had a strict time and place, but Dorian existed separate from this; an arbitrary distraction, but a distraction all too fitting to the morbid dark decadence of London’s ancient soul.

Some are bright and gleaming, bustling palaces for celebrities and the 1%. Others are derelict hulks, falling apart while somehow maintaining enormous valuations in London's swollen luxury property market.

A seven foot sunflower with a nine inch span grows on a narrow raft in the Thames at Limehouse, East London. The flower is believed to have grown from a seed dropped from a bird. 

Charles’ townhouse was very old and very large, tall-ceilinged and draughty. Even though it was fully ventilated with a modern central heating system, it remained difficult to keep warm. 

It did not bother him. Charles had grown accustomed to cold. He had learnt to accept it long ago, to the point where he now embraced it. Over time, the cold had become a second skin to him in a way; more consoling than heat or even warmth. After all, for as long as he could remember, his most destructive enemy has been fire.

This was the reason he refused to light the fireplace despite Arthur’s indirect complaints. He did understand England’s position, temperatures had dropped drastically over the last few days, and Arthur tended to suffer the brunt of it a fair bit more than him, but a fire was simply out of the question. Lately, Charles had gone so far as to completely ban domestic wood burning from every household within his vicinity. If anything, it helped him rest easier at night.

Lily wasn’t the sort you would describe as a chatterbox, and Charles preferred it that way, so once she did begin to go off on an opinionated tangent, instead of suffering through it, he simply decided to hush her by pressing a dark suede finger to her lips. This was one message Lily surely need not attempt to decode.

He rolled his eyes, however, when despite his intervention, she just kept right on talking. “No game,” explained Charles. “It is merely that you are far more attractive when you’re silent.” His own pale lips assumed the slightest ghost of a smile in response to her indelicate reaction. “That cryptic beauty of yours tends to fall apart the moment you open your mouth,” he said. “It’s rather a shame.”