On a rainy, silent night in Thornfield
the deserted streets, houses shrouded in fog
a town where time seemed to stand still
each shadow dancing beneath the flickering light
of the old train station
a relic of red bricks and worn wood

Clara Byrne waited
a young reporter, heart pulsating with mysteries
rumors swirling around her like the rain
about a train that departed at 11:59 PM
never...

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From the start she struck me as sturdy

Her dress always seemed to rustle

Too late I found what was underneath:

Ten stone of sinews and pure muscle

Now I was never known as a weakling

My pecs were moderately developed

Yet no man of modest stature could cope

When in her strong arms enveloped

The power of Clara overwhelmed me

As it would most normal fellows

Whe...

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