Loving Eros

Chapter 1

Somewhere, located near the far end of England, was a city-state surrounded by a large, cement wall, cutting it off from the rest of the world. It was separated from the rest of England by this wall, and fifty miles of ocean. The only way inside was a small, thin tollbooth, and the only way to it was from a port and a boat. Its name was Sheldon City. Those who lived there were mostly raised generation after generation. Something kept the people there. Newcomers were scarce.

 Sheldon City had a small population of people that inhabited it. Cars were rarely driven unless by authority, so the main form of transportation was by walking. It wasn't the land of opportunity, but one particular spring, the city itself gained another citizen. Another person, from the outside, instead of in. Unprepared, and unaware. Walking down an abandoned sidewalk was a young girl of her early twenties with brunette hair, her blue eyes swirling in confusion. She was, indeed, lost. 

 About a month ago, Story Henrick had gotten a call from Sheldon City— which she had never heard of up until then. The caller was a female by the name of Araceli Greyson, who was the Chief Executive Officer of a detective agency. She had no idea how Araceli had gotten her phone number, nor did she understand how she knew she wanted to get a job. She had posted an application and description on several websites, so she thought perhaps that was it. There were no other responses for months, so she seized the opportunity she had. Story had been studying business and communications, and she hoped to get a job at a police station, or other public services as an executive secretary. She wasn't one to get into action, but keeping things organized was a strong suit. When Araceli had explained that their jobs were detective work, Story definitely became interested. Though she didn't have much experience in the area, it sounded important. She sighed, pulling a folded up article from a newspaper out of one of her pockets. It was about Araceli's business that she had seen in the paper two weeks ago, which was convenient timing. She unfolded the paper and stared at the image on what should have been the front page of a newspaper, watching her step as she continued walking onward. 

 Araceli had said that her 'business' was known of, but still not something to be spread around. She was about as clear as the window of a car that had driven through the Sahara wet. All she told Story was that they gathered information on 'certain things', and that the workplace was called Spera Agency. She assumed that the woman in front of a somewhat large company building was Araceli.

 Araceli Greyson was the thirty-four year old daughter of an ex-marine; similar to Story's father. That was really all anyone knew about her family or background. In the news article, a female with fresh copper hair pulled back into a ponytail stood in front of a large building with two levels of large glass windows, the letters 'SA' above the entrance of the building. Araceli had her arms crossed, her focus not directed at what would've been the camera.

 Walking around the city, it was notable how busy it wasn't. There was hardly anyone walking out there on the sidewalks. On the somewhat off chance that there were people out in public, they would be alone; staying close to the shadows. There were hardly any cars out and about. She passed tall, brick buildings, structures like there would be in any other city. Two blocks away from the agency, there was a small gated park with a sign on the corner reading 'Central Park'. It was silent, empty, and desolate, only occupied by a large cluster of trees that took up the whole space.

 From this point, Story could see the Spera Agency building, from what the article showed. She turned around the corner to the left of the park when she passed the gate, where her destination was just two buildings away. The Agency building gave off a formal appearance. You could see most of the inside of the building if you observed from different angles. This seemed odd to Story that a building that was supposedly an agency or run by detectives didn't conceal for much privacy.