AN/ Hurp Durp. Hallo! It has been quite a while since I've uploaded anything, but I think that is pretty much the story of my fan-fic-life. I've been meaning to write for ages… a good few weeks at least! But I just haven't had the inspiration, so I apologise. This fic is the product of my rather recent but nonetheless avid Madame Red fandom… which I think has formed from me playing as Ann in the 'Black Facebook Crack Group' or BBFBCG for short! Try saying that three times as fast as you can. :P
Anyway, for fear of making my Author's note longer than the fic itself, I shall leave it here and say "Happy reading, hope you like it and please leave a comment/review!" Thank you!

Rated M for Gore, language and perhaps smut.


Prologue-

The day she met him was the day she lost herself.

It was well known that Angelina Durless had not had an easy life, the deaths in her family and her own hardships seemed to plague the woman mercilessly, but if someone were to ask anyone who knew her, they'd all say the same thing. She stood alone.
It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the kind, gentle condolences and the frequent offers of company, but her pride always prevented her from taking it. Whenever her colleges, friends, or simply associates attempted to take pity on her, or make things easier for her in terms of her private life, she was left with the most disgusting bitter taste in her mouth. It was as if they thought she could not handle it, like she would crack beneath the pressure of her amounting disadvantages and tales of woe. But so what if she did? She had seen so many lives having been cut short, and so she was not about to allow anyone else to interfere in her own time by sticking their noses where they did not belong. There were few left who she could say she genuinely valued the company of, her dearest Ciel, Edward and Elizabeth were really all whom she cared for. There were, of course, Edward's and Elizabeth's parents, Frances and her husband… what was his name? Well, regardless… she didn't really care for them as anything else but as her nieces and nephews parents. It would pain her to see the emotional hurt that would come to their children should anything happen to them, but her sympathy wouldn't stretch to them themselves.

And so, in the many weeks which led up to Friday the 31th August, 1888, she refused -almost to the point of forcefulness- any assurance or emotional empathy she was given. Angelina couldn't help but see the underlying morbid interest, selfish lust for information and gossip that was covered so thinly by the supposedly caring charade of many who pretended to wish to help her. They didn't really care; they just wanted more to fill their dull, mundane and usual lives with. Delighting in the hardships of others, oh, how they disgusted her. But it wasn't the fact that they simply craved others misfortune, it was how haphazardly they attempted to shield their want that fuelled her distaste.
On those last few days she almost began to feel her grip on humanity slipping away from her … but then, the feeling itself faded along with her compassion.