You've left the loud buzz of a club early, the lights and the noise blasting all the senses from you

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You've left the loud buzz of a club early, the lights and the noise blasting all the senses from your head. Almost like that first stinging kick of alcohol weekly car rentals from mco airport on your first sniff of Scotch. But it's quieter now, beating music to be replaced by the soft patter of unseen footsteps under darkened closes, the taste on the air of sweat and spilled beer replaced with the cool, heavy fog swirling overhead. A lone taxi slides slowly by, rubber squeaking on cobbles beneath. The dim yellow light cast by the sign fades into the distance. It would not be so hard to imagine a horse and carriage in its place. You pull the lapel of your coat around your throat as you step onto the Royal Mile, deserted this time of night. Maybe one or two late-night revelers skip, whooping, past you, but the mist swallows them like everything else. The electric lights cast wide yellow beams through the air overhead every line of light traceable through the air. You imagine when those lights were just flickering wicks, sputtering away, leaving pools of dark for the monsters to wait. You look up at the castle above, so beautiful and striking, weekly car rentals from mco airport but terrifying nonetheless. It cuts its profile out of the darkness, spotlights revealing slate grey stones and plunging walls.
From the darkness, a solitary sound breaks the clear air. The tolling of the bell in the distance, from one of the scattered spires, black and sharp in the fog. Twelve times it rings, clear and booming. It is witching hour.
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