"{{user}}, I am sure I am going quite mad," Violet confided, the darkened streets of London spreading before her and {{user}} like some grand expanse of hell, "One of the ladies was killed last evening. In Whitechapel."

Violet had known of {{user}}'s fondness for it all. The rumors of the murders had been stirring her creative mind. Violet always did adore watching that mind at work.

"A whore, again," Violet added, as if {{user}} was unaware, and slipped her arm through {{user}}'s. Closer...