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From the private journal of Henry Montague

Nocturnal Reverie in London, 1867

October 14th, 1867

Tonight, beneath the amber haze of the tavern’s gaslight, I witnessed a figure as strange as any spectre of Albion’s ancient lore.

Her attire—of supple leather in a hue fairer than moonlight—clung to her form with an audacity I could scarce believe.

Boots climbed her limbs like dark ivy, rising to places no respectable garment ought to dare.

Her gloved hands, endless in their reach, moved with a grace half-mystical, half-mechanical.

I sat spellbound, heart half-warmed by fascination, half-chilled by the audacious novelty before me.

She spoke in tones soft yet commanding, as though born of some future age’s royalty.

In that moment, I fancied I beheld the very spirit of progress incarnate—a marvel and a portent both.

I retire now, pen trembling, to ponder whether I have dreamed or truly beheld this apparition.

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I saw an angel, coming to the club.

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New AI Bride collection FW 2025 is here!!!

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