Patterns by William Morris, part III.
Just before nightfall I decided to take a walk outside. The sky was low, enveloping any object in its reach. It formed a dull, purplish haze - like nothing I’d seen before. The streets were empty. Not a single soul was out. It was oddly peaceful - imagining I was the only one left.
Les Mis/Jane Austen fusion where Feuilly works as a servant at the Bennets’ house and the entire fic is just Feuilly being 100% done with everything.