High Lechlow's a funny place really.
The kind you move to but not from.
A place that sucks in young couples and refuses to spit them out alive.
The saying among the latest generation is "There's no lower than Lechlow save the grave".
They do have one of the largest graveyards in all of the south of England.
One of the highest death rates too, seemingly mostly from old age.
When you look closer most of their deaths occur around the winter Solstice and autumn Equinox.
The nine days before each are when the majority of the elder population pass.
Heart attacks, trips and falls, accidental overdoses on their medications, nothing suspicious.
And yet those same nine days are when the most tourists visit the local ruins.
The same group of travelers who go there to "take photos" and "paint" but never show their work.
Nor do they bring any art equipment with them.
They never stay past the nine days, never go into the town itself either.
Something about leylines connecting like a whirlpool, drawing life in and in and in.
But they don't stay still long enough to ever explain the rest.
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