But it was all for beauty! I cannot possibly be held responsible if it was for that! Isn’t that what those around me demand I be? A beauty? Then you cannot punish me for I was what you asked of me!

It was absolute Bedlam at work her father had declared dourly to her the next evening. Anne had continued her reading not bothering to look up, she was trying to practise being more ladylike, and hearing more stories of ghastly murders would not make her more popular at Emily’s next tea. Elizabeth had simpered to Anne’s mother anyways, and Anne was now in quite a lot of trouble. Her mother did try so hard to be perfectly proper in front of all of the ladies with their arrogant faces and family trees which could be traced back to the feudal era. Anne suspected that at private gatherings they tried to figure out which of their ancestors had been the lord of Anne’s. New money was better than no money, but not by much it seemed. It was difficult to ignore her father’s stress though, as he paced the house unbecomingly in his shirt sleeves, it seemed as though there had been another murder in Whitechapel.

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The woman’s pale gloved hands were clasped delicately and modestly in front of herself, her unseen, yet obscenely expensive boots clattered harshly on the exhausted grey cobblestones. She walked in a straight line, serene and unaffected by the sounds of the street, her presence much like a void, absorbing all of the sound around it and turning it into nothing. But she was also nothing, a mere shadow on the street, ghostly white and untouchable in the night. Whitechapel is no place for a woman of her standing, but it’s not as though she could satisfy herself amongst her own class. People might actually care, or even find the perpetrator if she picked her fare from the rich, no, the desolate downtrodden would have to do for now. The woman just needed to find the appropriate prey, and oh how she was burning inside. This was what made her a wretched creature more than anything else. While on the outside her form was rigid and perfect on the inside she wanted to hold her arms close to her body curl up and shiver uncontrollably and have all the suffering and pain leave her. But she was the predator and not the prey, she could not be the one cowering, she needed to hunt or this feeling, this plague would not leave her.

It felt like everyone she encountered that night was a man. She wasn’t strong enough to attack a man in this state. In fact, she’d be lucky to catch a relatively robust woman at the rate she was going. The young woman bit back something that would have resembled panting, it was really starting to get to her, this complete and utter weakness, she felt like a feeble child and it made her absolutely sick with chilling rage. Why was she this way? What caused this to be her fate? She vaguely heard the bells strike the half-hour, was it 5:30 already, she thought dejectedly.

It was then that the man burst from the alleyway nearly knocking the weak woman off her feet in his fiery fervour. The man muttering furiously about whores. Curiosity piqued, and weakness all consuming the woman quickly and silently entered the alleyway. Her prize would be there waiting for her. The young woman breathed a sigh of impressed relief. She would be able to take this one she was relatively sure, the woman, though stout was old and drunk, looking worse for wear.

The whore stood leaning against a tall wooden fence that was imposing and dastardly, it was what caused this area to be secluded enough to seal her fate. The yard seemed as though no one really cared for it, it was quiet and closed in, a breeze moved quickly across the yard as if terrified of what it would witness if it didn’t move from the place quickly, as the young woman had entered the place had become evil, the prostitute was far to laden with the agonies of drink to even understand the evil which had just descended upon her in the guise of a delicate youth. The young woman would not learn this until much later but this prostitute’s name was Annie Chapman, called by some Dark Annie.

Annie stood using the fence for at least some manner of support; she wore a tired looking black skirt with a brown bodice. Her coat was thin and also black. The poor victim appeared to have been in a fight earlier as she was bruised, drunk and utterly defeated. To the hungry young woman she was a perfect waste of humanity.

And the young woman was so very hungry.

Annie had not yet noticed as the young woman had glided, ghostlike into the small yard. She was preoccupied being angrily drunk; commenting on what the young woman had assumed was the man who had just left. Cursing him to herself, and cursing someone named Eliza Cooper, and cursing god, which the young woman almost felt like joining in on at this point.

It seemed like a century before the drunken brunette even noticed her delicate young attacker moving towards her. The plump figure could not understand who this woman was, but her pale skin and sharp beauty were enough to captivate, and for a moment Annie wondered if she hadn’t died. She was only a few minutes off.

The young woman placed a delicate black gloved hand on the shoulder of Annie Chapman; the alcoholic seemed shocked and looked at the beautifully cruel face that stood before her, as the light of the moon struck the face of her attacker Annie’s shock was translated into her final word.

“No…”

The only sound that would be heard next by anyone who cared to listen was the infamous ripping. The flesh was separated methodologically and quickly. The starving young girl revelled in it, her strength felt like it was growing tenfold every single moment that she hunched over the crumpled old body. Her breathing finally getting more heavy and lusty as she felt herself finally return to life. She looked disdainfully at the crumpled old hag who had permitted her life, such a sad existence she had led, though the young woman felt little pity as she licked the last traces of blood from her now full lips.

You assume I had a choice! Not so! I ripped because I would have died if I had not! I will be hanged and I hope it ends the misery of starvation which hangs upon me.

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Note from the author: I had intended this chapter be longer, however, I decided to end the chapter on a slightly more morbid note instead of returning to high society, so this chapter is shorter than planned and the next one should be longer. Hope you're enjoying so far. C.B.