Open to social activities, making acquaintances, tea & coffee, aiding with menaces, and perhaps writing letters that do not entirely exist.

Her name is whispered in the satin halls of the Parlour, sung in the drunken shanties on the docks, writ in ciphers upon inked skin, lost in the dreams of honey-mazed poets, chanted by the names of firebrand revolutionaries, but most importantly, on the front page of this months top gossip gazette!

May we dance with hell, sing to the dead, and dream till Night comes; Long Live London!