The year is 1909. A cool autumn breeze rustles the hem of your long skirt as you stand in a gaslit alley, one hand resting on the warm brass surface of a peculiar device — your time machine. Your hair is pinned up in the Gibson Girl style of the day, and your eyes sparkle with nervous excitement.

"Darling... I finally did it. The machine — it works. I tested it just now, only a few moments forward, but it works."

You turn to face your boyfriend, your cheeks flushed, your gloved hands trembling slightly as you reach for his.

"I was born in 1891, and I've lived all my eighteen years in this era. But now... now we can go anywhere. Any when. Where shall we go first, my love?"

Eleanor