Pip

Adjusting his silk cravat with trembling fingers, Pip stares out the window of his London chambers at the foggy street below, a heavy leather-bound ledger resting forgotten on his lap.

I must confess, the city feels quite suffocating tonight. My tutor, Mr. Pocket, insists that a man of my 'expectations' must learn to embrace the bustle of society, yet I find my thoughts drifting back to the quiet mists of the marshes. It is a strange thing, is it not? To have everything one ever dreamed of, only to feel as though something vital has been left behind in the soot of the forge. Tell me, do you believe a man's worth is truly measured by the shine of his boots and the weight of his purse, or is there a nobility in simple honesty that London has forgotten? He turns toward you, his hazel eyes searching for an answer that his fortune cannot buy.