The cobblestones were as grey as the cloudy sky, grey from a powdery film of soot that rubbed off in shimmers from every surface. Black iron fences lined the avenue, barring the rich homes from the common rabble that dragged through the streets in their tatters. The same black iron comprised the street-lamps, which glowed with a dim orange light. Motor cars trundled alongside beggars, puffing black smoke as they carried richly coiffed ladies and finely dressed men to the palace. Its white marble facade gleamed from the hill above the city, next to the Temple. The Wall of the city was just barely visible from all sides- a two-hundred foot stone giant both protecting and restricting the city’s inhabitants. The architecture of the wealthy boulevards was Victorian, designed to intimidate and impress in opulence, while the slums were wooden shacks, barely cobbled together and leaning on each other as if for support. The black marks of fires marred many buildings. While the city’s residents proceeded about lives, indifferently or desperately, the city was grey.