Four roads converge at an enormous fountain. Once, the fountain was pearl white and flowed with chrystal-clear water, but now the darkness in the atmosphere has warped the angelic sculptures to black and the water that once flowed from their trumpets is frozen solid, still in the trickles falling. The cobblestones are crumbled, but bare and they circle the fountain precisely. A thick bed of black roses circles the fountain's base, turning their dark faces to the twisting gray sky. Claw-like trees cling to the sides of deserted houses, stretching over their streets. An old building, once a town hall stands tall and ominous at the corner where two of the streets meet.
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