The air is crisp and clear.
The night sky is glowing across the country with the light of dancing flames and full with the sound of laughter.
The children watch, eagerly anticipated, as their parents throw the first matches to light the fires, and the constructed figures on the pyres go up in flames.
Deep within the heart of the nation, people stare up in wonder at the sky, though not because of the fireworks.
The celebrations are interrupted by exclamations of surprise from the adults and delight from the children. Although it is only early November, it is snowing in London.
The strange phenomenon goes unacknowledged by one figure, tearing through the streets of the city with no signs of slowing down.
He throws himself down the steps of Trafalgar Square, soaring past the great statues of the lions and continues on his journey, the momentum enforcing his speed.
He ignores the people all around him, pointing and talking about the white flakes descending from the dark, cloudy night sky.
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