The fog of vice often cloaks the most wretched corners of our cities, and in the town of Noyabrsk, a tragedy has unfolded that would make the hardest heart bleed. It is a story of the bottle, the stairs, and a life snuffed out in a momentary lapse of reason.

There was a woman, some thirty-six years of age, who surrendered herself to the siren call of strong spirits. For the duration of the Victory Day feast, she dwelled in a state of intoxication at a companion's residence, drinking deep from the cup of oblivion while her tiny son—a creature born but a year prior—remained by her side.

When the morrow dawned, the woman, still reeling from the fumes of the drink, ventured out into the dim passage of the tenement stairwell. She carried the babe in her arms, but the spirits had stolen her balance. With a sudden, sickening jolt, she lost her footing. The child was cast violently onto the cold, hard stone of the steps.

But the horror did not end there. Like a felled oak, the mother collapsed atop her own offspring, her heavy, drunken frame crushing the fragile life of the boy beneath her.

Watchmen and surgeons were summoned in haste. The poor scrap of a thing was rushed to the infirmary, where the doctors fought a desperate battle in the resuscitation ward. Alas, the injuries were too severe; the child breathed his last in that sterile gloom.

Now, the law has stepped in. The Crown’s investigators have seen fit to charge the wretched woman with causing death by negligence. The case has been consigned to the City Court of Noyabrsk. She now faces the grim prospect of two years in the penitentiary—a meager price for a life stolen by the bottle.