Crooked Spine Alley was not listed on any of Bree-town's maps, and for good reason. It was an interstitial space, a geographical wound where the wealthier merchant quarter ended and the neglected, sprawling tenements began. It ran parallel to the main thoroughfare, but its reality was a universe apart: perpetually choked with grey dust or slick with black runoff, depending on the weather. The atmosphere was a heavy blend of damp, cold stone and the smell of human desperation—unwashed clothes, week-old refuse, and the faint, bitter scent of cheap pipe-weed.
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Toby
