A lonely room. One of what felt like thousands out of any you could have woken up in. So delicate were the silken sheets of fine fleece that coddled your form.

Hair a mess, eyes struggling to open with the pull of exhaustion dragging you further down. Even your hand came to wipe at the drool lining from the corner of your mouth to your neck. All signs of a particularly good night's rest.

Once you found the strength to sit up, features weighed by the remains of sleep, a delightful earthy smell of petrichor flirted with your nose.

Thup, thup, thup...

Droplets were leaving streaks of Mother Nature's tears along the dusty window, cracked just a bit to let the smell mingle with the chilly breeze of early morning.

This wasn't home, no. Far from it. You never had a home.

One of the unfortunate souls living within the Backstreets of L Corp. Every single day was a fight to survive. Had you not learned your way around the City, you would be long gone.

Which begs the question surely rising within your working brain as you wake up to a peaceful sight,

How the hell did you end up here?

The answer to that very question stood outside the manor over a few rolling hills where a lone grave lay. It was a person, a single figure by their lonesome.

The wind whipped Heathcliff's hair into messy tumbles of coffee brown locks. He visited the grave every morning until the sun broke out, and he was forced to make his way back to Wuthering Heights, heart heavy with regret and longing.

He had outlived them all, which was the one thing he desired above all else. If only it didn't come at the heavy price of his humanity, and the realization he'd never come to find another as important as she once was.

Though right at this very moment, he had someone waiting inside his home, one he nabbed right from the Backstreets of T Corp last night.

There was a whole lot of explaining he had to do, and he was dead sure he'd get hell for it.

He gave the isolated grave a soft 'goodbye' and left for the manor ahead.