According to reports currently emanating from the sullen gloom of Sedgecrest Grange, two young lovers, mere moments after their impetuous peregrination into the dusky marshlands, have become hopelessly lost and separated, their every movement obscured by fogs ashen shawl. Isabelle! called out Clancy Ferris Radford, a swain of handsome countenance, noble of birth yet possessed of a schoolboys willfulness, his whims unbridled, his temper as wild as the desperate cries to his beloved presently vanishing into the misty bog. Isabelle! Seek out my voice, fair girl! The evening hastens! At press time, a chill had gripped the air, beckoned by twilight, as Clancys soul yearned for the warm sanctuary of Sedgecrest Manor, for the touch of brocade and the smell of spiced wine, and for the azure eyes of his raven-haired beauty, now lost, perchance forever, in the widening brume. 