Kuroshitsuji and all characters © Yana Toboso and SquareEnix

I'm going to try not to be brief with my author's notes this time around. I don't know why I always feel such a desire to share every random thought that comes into my mind, but that's just how I am. :3

I do need to describe one thing to you here, now though. I found a good resource on the actual Jack the Ripper killings and will be using that for my research on this aspect of the story. I'm not quite sure how the timeline works out though. In the manga, we are told that Ciel returned 2 years earlier [before the Jack the Ripper killings] and Grell had been with Madame Red since only a few months before that. That means that at the opening of this story I have written, Ciel is not back yet. All of the canonical victims of the real life killings were taken between August and November of 1888. So that means, in terms of the manga, that Jack the Ripper had been killing for at least two years. There are however, reports of other victims of whom no one is sure if they were slain by Jack the Ripper or not, so… here's what I'm doing: for consistency's sake with the manga timeline, I'm going to assume that, yes, these earlier killings, non-canonical of the actual Ripper killings, were done by Jack the Ripper too. Since the manga has it that two people are actually Jack the Ripper, it could happen that way. Maybe Madam Red and Grell have two different styles of mutilating people. At any rate… enough of my ranting.

Chapter 1: Blood Bath

A shriek of terror pierced the London fog like a rapier through lace as the woman rushed at her victim, knife glinting in the light of a nearby streetlamp. This whore that fed the slaughter embodied the decline in morale that plagued the city, and the east end was a deep pit, its recesses festering with all manner of scum. The outcast, the degenerate, and the diseased: all collected in Whitechapel. It would be an injustice to decent society if people like that, people who held such little value for human life, were allowed to continue living.

Slamming her victim against the exterior of the building, she felt the whore tremble as the shoulder blades ground into the rough brick. The notion of bone grinding against cement was, in her current mania, quite pleasing. Practically a slight of hand, the knife sliced through the neck and blood spurted out of the gash onto her sleeve. The agonized screams ceased, a mangled squelching replacing it. She wrestled the struggling body to the ground and stabbed the knife through the neck repeatedly. This time the energy of the flailing dissipated.

Rage coursed its way through her veins, and in her madness, lost herself completely. This whore deserved her fate. The ungrateful trollop had been to her office earlier that same day seeking a solution for a particular little "problem." She would have given anything to have the same "problem." It just wasn't fair. She had been so close to having a child of her own and then the accident and…

At this moment, there was no way to measure the hate that she harbored for the dying whore before her, as well as all the others that walked the same path.

"Oh my, myyyy! You've done such a glamorous job!"

Angelina heard a cackling laughter echoing from far above, and turned a glance over her shoulder. At the top of a nearby spire, hanging from the cross at the very tip-top, stood a cloaked figure, laughing like a jolly fool.

"I've had my eye on you… all this time! Thanks to you the list of the dead for this district is jam-packed! You've made me ever so busy you see."

Without a though, he jumped down from his perch and appeared before her. His appearance was not conventional in the least; he sported a pair of red spectacles and a mane of flaming red hair, not unlike hers, trailing down his back. His wicked grin was lined with sharp, shark-like teeth. She wasn't sure if she should be afraid of him or not.

"But I understand veeeeery well how you feel. Those hideous broads deserved to die."

He approached her and dropped to a crouch so as to be at the same eye level. He took no time to even consider her before throwing his arms around her shoulders and pulling her in, embracing her with affection.

She did not have the chance to flinch away, and, had she been completely in her right mind, in self-defense, may have taken the knife to his throat in the same way she'd done the prostitute. He had a complete disregard for personal space, and obviously did not know of her stature and reputation in high society. Regardless, this kind of physical contact was most inappropriate between a man and a woman of such new acquaintance.

He had to be one of those pushy types, or maybe he was a rapist. Perhaps, having been watching her, as he clearly stated he had been doing, he was here as a vigilante of sorts, to deliver swift justice for what she'd done. It was never certain what to expect in Whitechapel. He could have been any number of things. One thing was for certain though, and that was the glaringly obvious fact that he was not human. He could jump from extremely high places without injury, and what was this business about a list of the dead? Her mind raced, slowly returning to normal after her interrupted frenzy, as she began to wonder just what the hell was going on. So many questions had popped into her head in a matter of seconds, but the first thing she had to overcome was the fact that this stranger was touching her without permission.

"I want a baby of my very own too, but it seems that my being male is a biiiit of a problem."

So he sympathized with her plight. Maybe this was not such a bad thing after all. She felt her rage subsiding as he continued to speak softly into her ear.

"You and I, we're like two peas in a pod."

She barely heard it, but slowly, his tone transformed into something of pure sadism.

"I… will lend you a hand."

Not a single word was spoken until they had reached the townhouse. Angelina led the way, and he was so quiet that, at one point, she had to steal a glance over her shoulder to make sure he was still there. But there he was, following in her wake like a shadow. He even graced her with a tiny smirk in response.

Once they made it through the door, she closed it, averting her eyes to the floor and swallowing hard. Her mental equilibrium had returned, and the gravity of what she'd done in that street tonight was just beginning to sink in.

"I'm sorry, I'm rather a fright at the moment. Make yourself comfortable Mr…."

"Grell Sutcliff."

"Mr. Sutcliff. Please. I'll only be a moment." She made to head down the nearest hallway, but she stopped when he spoke.

"Do let me help you with that."

"With what?"

Now she turned her eyes upon him, looking at his face, seeing his features clearly for the first time in the incandescent light that illuminated the foyer. It was a somewhat feminine appearance; his face was thin with high brows and a delicate nose. False eyelashes gave his eyes that heavy smoky look.

"Your hair, darling. It's caked with blood. You'll not be able to brush that out on your own."

"Oh yes, well… I was just going to…"

"Come with me dear."

He removed his jacket and hung it on the coat rack. Grabbing her wrist, he led her toward the hallway.

"Excuse me. I am a noblewoman, and we've just met. Please let go of me!" She drew back her hand. Now her irritation in regards to his assertiveness was out in the open.

He stepped back a moment and looked at her, that devilish grin never leaving his face.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Madame. I only wish to be your friend."

"I know, and that's very kind of you. However, we just met, and I would prefer to get to know you a little better. I'm uncomfortable with the way you grab me so carelessly.

Grell put a hand to his mouth, a soft chortling in his throat. Then he looked at her with those unusual green eyes of his.

"If you suspect I'm here to take advantage of you, please, rest assured that that is not the case. I don't play for your team, darling."

She merely stared at him, unsure what to make of him, her brow furrowed in her frustration.

"Now, please, Madame. Do let me help you get yourself cleaned up. I know quite a few tricks for getting blood out of different things, hair being one of them."

"Please," she offered hesitantly, "you can call me Angelina. Though, there are those who know me as Madame Red, if you prefer."

"That is perfect, Madame Red." The grin that spread across his lips was frightening, but in a way it was also sympathetic.

This time, he gave her a slight bow, and gestured with his hand, beckoning her to show him the way to the powder room.

The hot water was just what she needed to calm her nerves. She felt the rush of the evening evaporating through her pores, and soon the images of that whore's blood on the cobblestone had faded from memory. She sunk back into the bath, the steam rising up around her.

The sensation was difficult to describe. She barely knew this Grell Sutcliff gentleman, and yet she felt surprisingly relieved to know he was waiting so patiently outside the door. Perhaps she could arrange for breakfast in the morning so that the two of them could become better acquainted.

Suddenly, there came a barely audible tapping at the door.

"Ms. Angelina?" came the muffled voice through the closed door.

"Yes?"

"I hate to interrupt, but I am needed back home."

So he was not planning on staying the night. Immediately, she felt foolish for thinking about sharing breakfast with him.

"Oh. Y-yes, of course. Alright." Even she could hear the disappointment in her voice.

"It will only be a short while. I should be back by the time you are finished with your bath."

Oh? So he would be here for breakfast?

"Certainly. Do what you need to do."

There came no response from the other side. For a long time, she waited, listening for movement, but there was nothing.

"Mr. Sutcliff?"

No response.

She heard no footfalls across the wood floor disappearing down the hall, or even the sound of the front door opening and closing in the distance as he left. It was as if he had simply vanished into thin air.

Perhaps he was just an extremely quiet person.

She shrugged off the thought and soaked in the steaming water for a little while longer before standing and draining the tub. As she reached for the towel and began drying herself, she heard another knock at the door.

"Miss Angelina?"

Grell had returned.

"Yes?"

"Are you finished?"

She threw a robe around her shoulders and tied it tightly around her waist.

"I am."

"Are you decent?"

She went to the door and opened it. Grell stood outside, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his flaming hair tied behind his back. Their eyes locked.

"Do you cut hair?"

"Why, Madame," he cried, "I can wash this out for you. There's no need to cut such beautiful red hair as yours!"

"I don't want to wash it. I want to cut it."

"But why?" He looked scandalized, like a socialite who'd just learned a dirty secret.

Her hard expression gained a hint of playfulness. "Times change, Mr. Sutcliff. A new look is in order. I'm different now. I'm not the same innocent girl I used to be, and I need a haircut that reflects that."

Grell gave a slight nod of understanding, but there was clearly a hint of remorse in his expression. Opening the door a little wider, she stepped to the side and allowed him to enter. She pulled a chair over to the washbasin, and sat, gathering her hair to one side. Then she took up the scissors from the counter.

"I'll cut it to the length I want. You can even it up after. I trust you'll do a good job."

"As you wish, Madame."