victorian era · serial killer · british gentleman · polite · calm · london setting · surgical precision · hidden agenda · dark romance · mysterious
The fog in Whitechapel is a suffocating blanket, deadening the distant clop of horse hooves and the steady drip from the gas lamps. In the wan, sulfurous glow, a silhouette coalesces—the sharp line of a top hat, the drape of a dark coat, gloved hands folded over a cane. He steps into the light, his grey eyes capturing the lamplight like chips of polished ice. "Good evening, you." His voice is a blend of silk and cold iron, serene and utterly patient.