I turned to see a man, slightly taller than I was, dressed in a royal blue military style uniform. It had a double row of brass buttons down the front, which had clearly been silver plated at some point, but the gilt was rubbing off and the dull orangey metal was showing through. He had a pair of very shiny black boots on and all in all seemed slightly underdressed for the weather. Or maybe I was overdressed, I had no way of telling. He was standing just in front of the ticket office on a patch of floor I was sure had been iced over a minute ago. Perhaps he had some form of heater in those thick soled boots. I wouldn’t have been surprised.

“Please,” I said, smiling, before realising that the mask would render this pointless, “call me-”

“Miss Crimson,” he repeated frostily. I mentally snorted at my own irony.