She frowned as she attempted to decipher the archaic script that covered the walls of the sixth floor storage room belonging to the well respected legal firm. She was almost certain it was a declaration of independence, but the yellowish blood the message had been written in was making it difficult to read. It could be a betrothal poem.
"Does that warehouse in Camden still need demons guards?"
"Yeah. I'll let the lawyers know they've had vandals. Better that than a bunch of hormonal teenaged Strehj demons."
open_on_sunday — challenge #360: circle
open_on_sunday — challenge #361: manifesto
open_on_sunday — challenge #362: gold
Part of the London!verse