Streets were bare. Shops were empty. All that echoed throughout the town was an eerie silence. The clock on the tower said 11:50. There was ten minutes. Ten minutes until everything either ended in a hellish oblivion, or everything went so quiet it made your ears hurt, then that brief moment of relief. And happiness. But still she waited, sitting on the soft and worn mattress in her room in the Stockpot Inn. She was dressed in an elegant wedding gown, a mask clutched tightly against her bosom with pale hands. She would wait for him. No matter what.