The Magnus Institute, London, Founded 1818

The London of my dreams has no street signs. It was this building to which all of the veins flowed every door, every window was solid with them. I entered a room covered with shelves and cabinets stretching off into the distance. These shelves were coated in a sticky black tar which I knew at that moment was the thickened, pulpy blood that pumped through each and every one of those veins. At the front of the room stood a desk, and the veins were wrapped around it so tightly and so thick that I knew that this must be where they ended.

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