Disclaimer: I do not own Kuroshitsuji. Obviously, cause my name isn't Yana Toboso.

Thought Bubble: Funny how an English assessment could turn into a Kuro fanfic :D

A v e M a r i a

[Forsaken Memories]

- SilentSerenata

I tremble
They're going to eat me alive
If I stumble
They're going to eat me alive

Can you hear my heart beating like a hammer?
Beating like a hammer?

Melody 00: Prologue

Fred Abberline grimaced at the sight before him, the taste of disgust choking on the verge of his tongue. Never had he been so horrified and despite the fact that the young Scotland Yard officer had seen his fair share of cruelty, nothing could compare to this.

Before the man realised, a crowd had gathered around the alleyway and murmurs of suspicion were spreading like fire. Security was bustling to and fro, and Abberline noted how his police co-workers were having troubles in attempting to pry away the mass of curious onlookers, all of whom were hoping to earn a glimpse at the body and perhaps the victim's identity. But it truly was an ugly sight and Abberline for once, wished he could be part of the crowd; his own face cringed in repulsion and his optimistic smile long gone. The word 'gruesome' was impossibly incapable of even describing the murdered body that lay at his feet, and if not for the handkerchief which he held dependently to cover his mouth, he doubted he could have even breathed. Luckily, Abberline managed to distract himself from the disturbing sight by turning to the man on his right who coughed poorly.

"Chief," addressed Abberline as he handed a small stack of papers, fresh with black ink, to his superior. "The report on Lady Cecilia Grace's death." Uncertainty was evident in the officer's voice but nevertheless, he continued. "Sir…Is it alright for you to be moving about so much? You've only just recently recovered from your-" The man's remaining words were left unsaid for his response was already given: a sharp glare from his fellow Chief, Sir Arthur Randall.

The older man of the two, Sir Randall, examined the papers with a quick glance, mumbling words to him as he did so. "Cecilia Grace, the Duchess of Burnswell who came to visit London...Age eighteen...Time of death, approximately midnight...Cause of death, unknown..."

Displeased, the Chief uninterestingly disregarded the information and nonchalantly approached the dead body – or what seemed to be a body for its limbs had been mortified to the point that it no longer remained recognizable. One could have almost mistaken it as garbage if not for the pools of drying blood splattered across the cobble street. That, and the decapitated head of a blonde woman whose left eye had been removed from its socket.

"Go call a doctor," demanded the Chief as his eyes twitched in anxiety, "We'll need a professional to identify these...body parts. Or whatever is left of it."

"Yes, sir," responded a fellow policeman, his desperation to leave clearly obvious.

Although Fred Abberline was no specialist in terms of biology, what he was able to determine from the body was that its murderer was no particular brute. The extent, in which the woman was torn, was simply far too complicated to have possibly been accomplished by even the most crazed of psychopaths, or anything humane at that. For there, on the skin of an arm, were pieced holes which could only be distinguished as marks – teeth marks to be precise. The Chief, too, seemed to have realised this as the shock became evident in his widened eyes. It was at that moment did the two men both question one thought: "Who and what in the world did this?"

Disgusted yet intrigued, Abberline couldn't help but to stare at the body when one particular whisper from amongst the crowd caught his attention. "This makes it the third kill...Don't tell me it's another Jack the Ripper."

The officer couldn't have agreed more.

"Although we weren't able to gather much regarding the details of the murder..." Here, Abberline hesitantly paused before further continuing his speech, mentioning to a young girl as he did so. "...There was, however, one witness: Elise Marie, one of Lady Cecilia Grace's personal maids."

At the new information, the Chief's ears perked. Indeed, next to the dead body, sat a girl no older than the age of fifteen, splattered in the same blood as her mistress. It was a shocking sight, even more so since he had been so horrifically fascinated with the body that he hadn't even noticed the other beside it. It had been hours since the initial discovery of the murder and yet the child's lilac eyes remained paralyzed in fear. Though it was only understandable, considered Abberline, given the horrified, ugly state in which Lady Grace now lay in.

"Has she spoken ever since?" inquired Randall, though he had already figured the answer. However, before Abberline could even respond or be given the chance to, a soft but choked voice spoke - a voice which both men could only identify from one particular child.

"They ate her..."

Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer
Hard to be soft
Tough to be tender
Come take my pulse, the pace is on a runaway train
Help, I'm alive, my heart keeps beating like a hammer
Beating like a hammer

- "Help I'm Alive" by Metric