Corsets and the City
The cobblestones as I stroll down the busy London streets are still moist and wet from the rainfall this afternoon. Now at night, the darkened streets are only visible because of the newly-lit gas lamps surrounding every corner—gobbling up the darkness with murky yellow light. The buzz of talking is prominent, as is the hurried click-clack of my boots. As I look down, I behold an emerald-green gown flowing all the way down to the ground, the green so rich and smooth that running my fingers through the gauzy material feels like heaven. Tonight, it seemed all ladies and gentlemen would surely attend the Opera house. There was to be an opening if I recall correctly, impossible to miss.