[Prompt from http://daily-writing.blogspot.com/ . I had some prompts saved in an email from one of my class days that I’m just now getting around to posting. Sorry. Story from a story idea of mine entitled Iron Maiden.]
The night air was cold; icy fingers kept stroking the bare skin of my shoulders. I should have brought that cloak with me after all.
Too much clothing would be a waist where I was going. The lower streets were so caked with filth that I would most likely have to resole the boots I was wearing after. Any cloak of mine, even the shortest, would have to be discarded shortly after my visit. There was no return from the stench of waste and death.
As an added safeguard, I bustled the back of my skirt higher than normal. I hoped I would not have to discard that as well. Keeping this in mind, I kept an eye out for any puddles on the cobblestones while I glanced around for signs of life.
Those you do not wish to find in a dark alley were typically the only souls awake at that ungodly hour.