*This story is dedicated to who really wanted me to write this.*

Mary Nichols.

Annie Chapman.

Elizabeth Stride.

Catherine Eddowes.

Mary Kelly.

Those were the names of the five women who came to me for their own selfish help, and in so doing sealed their fate. Why would anyone ever do that? If they had only known what I had lost; if they had only know the horrible empty and sickening feeling of washing the blood of an innocent child from my hands; if they knew what they truly had (what I never could have) would they have ever thrown it away. They deserve everything that's coming to them. One of them already has: Mary Ann Nichols.

I am not one to judge, but I have always had a strong spirit. I did not judge any of those women for what they were. I am not petty like that, but it was their attitudes that got to me. None of them seemed to care. Nicholes was just so haughty and self-centred. You would have thought she was the queen's daughter if you had sat there listening to her. She just sat talking to me, constantly flicking her hair back and not really looking at me at all. Who did she think she was? She had almost demanded the operation from me. If it was my choice I would not have done it, if not for my own reasons but purely for her attitude. Unfortunately though, it wasn't my choice. I would carry out that operation whether I liked it or not.

I didn't.

Not one moment.

She made me so angry. I was no longer wallowing in self-pity, I had got past that. I thought I had lost everything that had meant anything to me, but I was wrong. That woman had what I wanted more than anything and could never have since the accident, and what did she do. She threw it away without any thought of the consequences. And, God, there would be consequences. I would make sure of that.

Red.

That is what I am. Red is not my favourite colour. I love it and I hate it, but it rules me. My temper is like fire, and if I think that someone should die, they will die. Everything would be stained red: red with blood. I would make that woman bleed and make her think about what she did as she watched her own life-blood leave her. So many times in my head I had killed her, I needed to make it a reality. I don't know what I was truly thinking at the moment, but I was so angry that I didn't care. Women like that are quite easy to find, especially in the East End. It was about half past three when I found her. The knife was in my coat pocket, and I had clung to the handle like it was my only comfort. This must be it. This must be the only way to ease the pain of my unhappy life. It would end hers, staining everything red. I watched in the shadows and waited for the last client of hers to be waved off and around the corner before I left my corner. Nichols stopped with her hand on the door and gave me a puzzled look.

"Hello?" she asked. "You're that doc..." Then she saw the knife. I was angry and didn't respond to any of her pleas for mercy or for knowledge of why. She stood frozen against that little doorway as I rushed at her. The knife slashed twice at her neck, spraying crimson blood from her throat. Nichols screamed but it didn't last long. She was dead before she even knew what had happened. I shook, looking down at what I had done. I did not feel sorry for her. She had brought this on herself. I was shaking more out of shock. Had I really done that? Did I have that strength? Did I just kill? I am a doctor. Why don't I feel anything? For any patient of mine who had died before, there was always some pang in my chest of pity. There was nothing here. I was breathing deeply, and I knelt beside the body. Nichols' eyes were open in horror of what she had seen but I took no pity. I drew out the knife again and held it over her stomach. I would take what she should never have been granted. I pushed the knife into the flesh, blood blossoming around the wound and staining her dress. I did not falter. It was almost as though I had been born to do it. I drew that knife through her like she was some kind of doll and opened up the stitches I had put in before. My left hand forced itself into the split and ripped it wider, feeling through her organs. Rip it out. Take it away. She never deserved it. I dropped the knife and used my right hand to open her up as well. Sifting through her innards, the tips of my fingers touched that organ I wanted. I picked up the knife again and cut it out, pulling it out and dropping it onto my knees. It was already mangled with the earlier operation, stitched together where it had already been torn open. I shook more. Why did she do it? She did that to herself of her own free will, just because she wanted an easier life? I bowed my head over her. Well, now she shared my pain and my colour.

Until I heard the voice I had forgotten the danger I was in. I had just killed, but that didn't really matter to me. My life still seemed just as empty, but the voice made me jump. I turned around quickly to see who it was. I must have looked awful. I was covered in Nichols' blood from head to toe. It was all over my face, hair, coat, gloves, hat, boots, everything; but he didn't seem to care. In fact he seemed to have enjoyed the "show".

There was something rather mesmerising about him. I knew he was not of this world, but he took pity on me for some reason. His eyes were a beautiful shade of yellow-green and his hair was as red as mine. He seemed relatively amused by me, but I did not feel like demanding why. He did not seem to be hostile, or seem like reporting me to any form of authority. He sprang down from the building he had watched me kill Mary Nichols from, and landed deftly in front of me. He smiled. The smile unnerved me slightly but I did not show it.

"Who are you?" I asked. The stranger looked slightly taken aback.

"Sorry. I should have introduced myself," he said. "I was very impressed with you. That was quite a little show. My name is Grell Sutcliff, and I'm now fascinated." I stood up and faced Grell properly.

"Fascinated?" I asked. He nodded.

"Yes. I was here for her soul but got sidetracked. You could make a habit of this."

"I plan to," I said, looking down at Nichols' body. "She deserved everything she got." In that moment I wondered why I'd said that. I could quite easily be handed in now. I had confessed to murder and the conspiracy to commit it. However it didn't seem to bother Grell. He laughed.

"Really?" he asked, clapping his hands together and grinning manically. "How exciting! You wouldn't mind awfully if I tagged along, would you?" Now I felt confused.

"What does that mean?"

"I want to watch, be a part, whatever I could do to help," he said. "I know who you are, and I know why you did it. It's noble and sad, I grant you. I feel your pain, because I am like you." Grell raised a hand to his forehead, looking tired. "Either way I'm already in trouble. I'd rather do something entertaining before Will gets all huffy with me and he will do. He's like that."

"Why? What do you want?"
"Oh, nothing much. Just a reason to be with you," he said. "And a part in your plan. I can get you the alibi you are going to need. I think we have more in common than a certain colour." He flicked his hair back. "So what do you say? Shall we play?"

I don't know the reason why, but I trusted him. He took me away from there before I could be caught and for that I was grateful. I employed him, and hid him away, pretending he was human. Life just went on though, and nothing particularly bothered me about what I had done. To me Mary Nichols was just a name on a list that I had drawn up: a list for death. Grell is interesting company to say the least, but I still feel as though something is missing with my life. News of Ciel has finally reached me. He is alive after all, but my nephew is changed. I have seen him. His right eye was bandaged up and with him he brought a strange butler, dressed in black. That probably should have made me happy, but it only made me angrier. The other problems seemed more to me now. The other women do not have much time left.

My name is Angelina Durless.

I am Ripper.