"Are you sure this is alright? I don't mean any disrespect."

Harry glanced at the dark-haired woman next to him, ducking so he wouldn't hit his head. The last thing he needed was disorientation right now; He needed to focus. Not that he would be sloppy otherwise, but the result wouldn't be the same. Annie Chapman laughed quietly to not wake everyone up.

"Don't you worry about it, Harry. It is alright. People walk in and out of here every day."

"Even at five in the morning? I highly doubt that." Harry replied with a toothy but oh so charming grin, making Chapman laugh, patting the man's back.

He was truly wonderful; They'd just met but the man possessed an awful lot of charisma. He was young, late twenties, and absolutely handsome. Dark hair like herself and his eyes held this peculiar gleam. As if there was so much more to him. His lips were beautifully curved in a way that, despite her experience, was actUally quite rare.

"Pardon," The man started, slowly dragging his lips across his lips before he continued, eyes finding the floor for mere seconds. "But is it- True?"

"That what is true, darlin'?" She quirked a brow, though that wasn't what seemed to draw this young man's attention. His eyes were wandering down her body but they stopped at her neck. Nothing new really with her profession.

"That you'd sleep with anyone?" The air had changed like someone had changed the setting. The kind-looking and eloquent man had turned into what seemed to be quite the opposite. His expression had darkened, dim lighting that came from the candles flickered over his face, what even enhanced the tension that had replaced the friendliness between them.

Annie was taken aback for a couple of seconds. "Oh, dear. Are you interested in such methods? I mean no disrespect but you seem-" Of course he was interested. He was a man and this was her job. Simple as that.

Harry grinned, showing off his teeth, although the woman wasn't sure about whether that was on purpose or completely accidental. "Proper? Au contraire, I can assure you, Annie Chapman, that I am interested in 'these methods'." He scoffed and took another step forwards. The woman was now trapped between himself and the wall.

"But not only that method." Annie Chapman didn't have time to scream; Her mouth was covered with the man's hand and in one swift movement, he got a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped it around her neck. "There's something that happens when you suffocate someone," Hal hissed into her ear. He looked perfectly calm, yet with a hint of anger. The woman's eyes widened and her hands went to defend herself, swatting at the dark-haired Lord but he merely laughed at her. "Now, now, I wouldn't-" Before he had finished, she'd punched him square in the face. "Now that was just stupid, you bitch." Within a second, Harry had reacted by tightening the grip on her throat. "It is rude to interrupt someone. But then again, a whore like you wouldn't know. Would you?"

The hand that had been holding her body against the wall, arm across her chest, could now be moved to yank at her hair; Annie was now desperately trying to get Harry's hand off her throat, to get the piece of fabric off. "Remind me of what I was telling you?"Harry's eyes wandered up and down her body, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. "Ah. Right. Suffocation. It's beautiful. Skin turns purple, eyes pop as well as veins..." Slowly, Annie's strength was decreasing, leaving her to stare at the man who was standing in front of her, hand around her neck. "But the most beautiful part is something entirely else."

Like he'd drawn the handkerchief from his pocket, he now drew out a knife. It had a lean blade, simple enough to be handled. It seemed to come from a medical collection. But medical instruments are supposed to save people, yet the smirk that matched his body language contradicted that common statement. "The sound of blood,-" He paused to swallow loudly, as if trying to control himself. "The sound of blood rushing through veins is nothing special. Something I am confronted with every day. And I give in, Annie. Don't think you're the first. Don't think you are special. You humans always think you are all special."

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Four heartbeats were left for Annie Chapman before Harry dragged the knife across her throat to slid it. A quick move and she simply stared at him, face swollen and eyes wide, making a gurgled noise that was so familiar to him. It was as if they always tried to make him feel guilty. As if. It only made it more pathetic. Hal closed his eyes and listened to sound of the blood, corner of his lips twitched up in a wicked smirk. "Isn't it beautiful, Annie?"

His eyes opened.

Blackness.

Aziraphale was looking at the dark-haired man in front of him, slowly stirring in his tea. It was unbelievable. How could he be sitting here with him? John was in the back of his shop, looking at the books. He'd chosen the wise path and left the pair alone.

"Crowley,-" Aziraphale started but got interrupted.

"It's like the bloody hell down here. Literally. Everyone has one. Childish. Why don't you have a servant?"

"Now that would be rather hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?"

"How would that be hypocritical of you? You could have been upper class by now! Just er- Have a servant. He or she can make you tea or your cocao. Female, preferably, because otherwise-"

"Thank you for your input, Crowley dear, but I can make my tea myself, really. It's the most thrilling part of the process. Besides, it's hypocritical because the Christians are trying to abolish slavery. So why would an angel have servants? Aren't we supposed to be servants? God's servants?"

"Warriors, actually. And you're a bloody lousy warrior. You've got to be kidding me.. Bloody irony, it is. And how is a servant a slave? I need a drink. You wouldn't happen to have someone get me one? Isn't that man your servant?"

"Welcome back, Crowley, dear."

It was beautiful like he had promised Annie.

There's a certain amount of beauty a dead woman holds. The way the crimson liquid was spreading across her torn green dress, that indicated the way he'd brutally murdered her. The garden had become the scene of the crime. He buttoned his shirt - that was smeared with blood - up, took a second handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth clean like any sophisticated and well-mannered Lord would do.

For some reason, the way he killed now was so much more thrilling and provided him exactly what he needed; He'd found that patterns were important. A vital element that was necessary to spread fear. It wasn't like he'd ever get caught.

Au contraire. He wanted them to search for him so that they'd realize that they were simply mortal and he wasn't. He was an Old One.

Harry took a moment to appreciate the scenery. He'd made an artpiece out of it. People wouldn't have to know it had been him. All they had to know it was him. It was the same person.

Her stomach was cut open. He'd performed the easiest of operations.

Now his pockets were filled with human flesh.

Reproductive organs, to be specific.

There was only so much blood left.

Lord Harry had been thirsty.