Of course it was wet, it was the 1800's!
No one could remember when the rain started, and no one could see it stopping any time soon. Rain collected in buckets, gutters, potholes in the street. We learned to live with it as everyone else had done for years. It did wonders for the city's rat population (which I hear took a sharp downfall when the rain first started), and if it weren't for the mud, it might almost be bearable.
I, however, had grown sick of it. There were only stories of sunshine now. Stories told late at night by my grandmother, or re-told with glorious anecdotes by my brother.
There was really nothing that I wanted more than to see the sun myself. I pined to see something other than a dreary grey, to feel the touch of nothing but air
My brother made a plan to find it, and initially that plan didn't include me, but things changed. He told me his fantastical idea and there was a gleam in his eye that even the rains couldn't put out, and we both knew what would have to happen next.
And so one dull morning, we packed our bags, opened our umbrellas, and set off on an adventure that neither of us were even remotely prepared for.