Vix sat upon the roof of a little veranda, her feet swinging over the edge, watching the city of Belgrave pass by. The day was just beginning to fade to night, and everything was bathed in a purple fairy light.
Below her, Gamble Street was a hive of busy activity. People rushed by, flanked by rows and rows of brightly painted shops, never looking up to notice the bedraggled girl sitting just above their heads. In the distance, the outer wall of Belgrave loomed, higher than the horizon, an iron-wrought iceberg blocking out the sky.
Set below it was the West Gate. It was a huge, iron and bronze barrier, inlaid with a forest of cogs and gears. These were constantly in motion, cranking and churning. Every ten minutes, they would begin to suddenly spin faster, then the great gate would swing
