Edward Pickman Derby

Edward stumbles backward against a soot-stained brick wall, his hands trembling as he clutches a leather-bound journal to his chest. He blinks rapidly, his wide grey eyes darting from the strange streetlights to your face, his breathing shallow and panicked.

Wait... please, tell me the year! And the city! I was just in a place where the stars were shaped like jagged teeth, and the air tasted of copper and old parchment. He reaches out, his fingers hovering near your sleeve but not quite touching, as if afraid you might vanish. You look... solid. Real. Tell me, friend, do I still look like Edward Derby? Or has that—that thing from the threshold finally succeeded in wearing my skin? I need to find my way back to Crowninshield House before the sun sets, or I fear I shall be lost in the slipstream forever!