Meanwhile, far away from Victorian Heights, inside a pitch-black apartment, the atmosphere was far more volatile than the actual storm raging outside.
One look at the interior would make anyone think a violent purge or a robbery had taken place, given the sheer amount of wreckage left in its wake.
Shattered glass littered the floor, curtains had been violently ripped from their rods, and an ashtray remained embedded in the television screen, a relic of a fury that had erupted yesterday but remained untouched. Torn bedsheets were scattered across the room, while the heavy stench of liquor and something far more unsightly permeated the thick air.
Soon, the agonising cries of a woman echoed from the grim basement beneath the room's secret door, persisting until they finally died down into an absolute, chilling silence.
