The window was abutted by an arching roof which thankfully lead to open air, breathable air. The Mists of Eventide licked her heels as she clambered toward higher ground. Below on the street was a sea of faces turned hideous in the light of torches, twisted by hatred. Rocks pattered on the shingles around her. She hears a peculiar sound, the heavy chutting of a near-empty wine bottle sailing end over end. It shatters on the chimney beside her head, showering her hair with glass. Then she hears the more sinister sound of upstairs windows breaking out, of bodies clambering onto the opposite slope of the roof, and these she can feel as well as sense--an aura of murder on just the other side of the roof.