Jocelyn had sunk into an ever deeper depression since her second cousin's brother-in-law, Tony, had jilted her for his best friend's third wife. Her depression was at first tinged with hope that he would return to her, but in no time at all it turned from the sort of depression that could be termed a love disappointment into a dark, swirling, depression that could be likened to walking through treacle; and not a light, honey-hued treacle of the sort that is used to make that coffee-with-cream tinted light toffee, but that dark, almost black, treacle that goes to make old fashioned toffee - the color of molasses - dark, black and sticky; only darker and stickier, so that walking through it was like wading through mud--only not ordinary dirt-mixed-with-water mud, but that gloopy, quicksand type of mud where it's difficult to get yourself out without someone throwing a rope and pulling you out; yet, somehow, even worse than that.
It took a hold of Jocelyn's mind like an invisible mist that descends and engulfs the brain so that it cannot think straight; this swirling, suffocating, mist moved into her very soul, like something from a horror film, covering her every miserable thought of Tony in cotton wool so that it smothered her will to function; sapped her energy, and turned her into a veritable Zombie so that she could barely rise from her bed. This mist, not light and airy, like smoke or steam, but dense like a thick fog on a dark night, invaded and enveloped and encircled her very being, leaving her limp and in a very dark, lonely and miserable place.
This, then, is where we find our heroine and where our story begins.