1810 England, the height of the Napoleonic wars. It was thought that humans walked the path of enlightenment leaving monsters and dark things behind. However, those monsters and night stalkers merely hide in the darkness, as a young maid, Bernadette, soon finds out.
Humans... I see them all the time... every day and I wonder, do they dream? Do they do more than just exist? Plodding along, day to day with no thoughts other than how to get their next pleasurable sensation? No better than 'animals'? I drown who myself in stories, am I any different?