Memories Never Die

There was something about London.
Not the loud car filled streets, complete with bright red buses shining through the ever present rain.
No, I mean the dark, dangerous streets of 1867 London. A man’s silhouette, complete with a pipe, a pile of silk and taffeta under a flickerling lamp, dressed delicately but daggers in her eyes. A corset seen through a dusty shop window, begging to be sold.
That’s where I found my greatest love, the love I believed would define them all, Marta.
That is, until I met Kirsten.

(I clearly do not own the characters on stitchers, or stitchers itself, because if I did, camsten would be oh so canon)
(also, if the cover art is yours, sorry... let me know and I will credit you)