I stepped out into the narrow, cobbled streets. Smog hung thick in the air, the factories belching out clouds of gray that blotted out the sun. Broken furniture, abandoned old crates and barrels, and mounds of trash littered the sides of the streets and every alleyway. Buildings crumbled at the corners, doors sagging on broken hinges and windows boarded up. The palace loomed above it all, glowing in the dim light, its pearly white marble reflecting the few rays that cut through the gray.

  An old man was the only other living thing on the street. He was leaning against an old wooden crate, head slumped forward, cap shading his eyes. I did not know if he was dead or drunk. I was too scared to check.

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  I picked my way through the streets, clutching my bag to my chest. There were no vehicles on the streets except one black wagon collecting the dead.

  As I grew closer to the royal sector, the streets cleared. I wove my way through streets lined with abandoned mansions of the once rich and mighty.

  I stopped in one such street, a neighborhood of walled mansions.

  The stone of the walls was crumbling, the paint wearing thin and peeling.

  Every gate was locked, the wood beginning to rot away. All but the one I stood before.