The heavy rain poured down, filling the damp alley with the stench of sewers.
The foul water meandered along the uneven ground like a stream rushing down the stairs, raising murky splashes.
A passerby stepped heavily through the puddles and rhythmically knocked on a door within the alley, silent and soundless, as a thick presence spread through the darkness.
After a moment, a rusted iron gate opened a crack, and a figure shrouded in a cloak and draped in black robes appeared.
"Black mist enshrouds."
A low and hoarse voice slowly rose, grating like a sharp object scraping a mirror, involuntarily instilling a shudder.
"Withering Rose," the newcomer whispered.
As the voice faded, the shadow standing before the gate stepped aside, and the newcomer quickly slipped in, as the iron gate shut tight once more.
The room lay in darkness; although there was a dim yellow light on the ceiling, it was like an ornamental piece, its glow failing to cast down, barely reflecting a faint gleam.