I crouched beneath the old stone wall, hiding. Above me was the main window, divided into tiny squares by dark wooden frames. The light from the candle illuminated the leaves around me.
The earth beneath my bare feet was damp and cool, but not as wet as the grass on the other side of the iron railings that I think I’d just climbed over.
That bit wasn’t clear. Neither was why I was hiding; what and where the building was; and the time.
It was dark, hence the candlelight; but it wasn’t now.
It was years ago.
Many years ago.
The Mansionic Perspective 
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