Victorian England was the worst place to be in 1888. Mainly cause of me. I made the townspeople of Whitechapel in London shake into an uneasy slumber... I was the 'Jack the Ripper'.
It was accidental, the first whore. She wasn't really...well...nice. She called me a whore, but that was coming from the alcohol in her system. It wasn't my fault she pushed me overboard and... I...
I felt alive. When I cut her throat. The blood...the smell and sight... They were wonderful...
That's where my love for murdering prostitutes came about. Can't exactly blame me, most of them looked like a rat.
But never mind that, I have to keep it safe. I have to. Otherwise, I'm fucked.
This thing I'm hiding, I want you to hide it if I somehow manage to get killed. What is it? Oh... I'll explain when we get t-GET DOWN!!!
YOU ARE READING
Dance in the Fire
ParanormalI've been trying to hide "that" from them... But the more I run the more I mess with history... Help me, please...
