Before the infamous black door, where she had stood only once before, fresh tears streamed down her face.

The façade of dereliction and neglect belittled the magnificence of what lay within, No. 1 Tyranny Square, which to Jackson was simply the greatest place in the eternity of creation.

Staring up into pregnant morning skies, cloaked with waking ravens, Jackson wiped her snotty nose on the ripped woollen sleeve of her jacket.

As the gurgling croaks of the corvids drowned out the thumping of her heart, she stepped up to the door.