Just because it's a cliche, doesn't mean I wont do it, however.
France, Paris, 1775. In the darkened dormitory, Maximilien watched the droplets on the window pane race each other to the bottom. Thunder crashed overhead and made the lamps flicker slightly. Across from him, Camille shivered, nose nearly pressed to his own book. He looked up at Max, and his mouth quirked slightly. “D-done a-a-already?” Max … Continue reading France, Paris, 1775.