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A hint of Jack's backstory.
Prologue
Whitechapel, England.
31st Day of August, 1888.
"Ye, who read are still among the living, but I who write shall have long since gone my way into the region of shadows. For indeed, strange things shall happen, and many secret things be known, and many centuries shall pass away, ere these memorials be seen of men. And, when seen, there will be some to disbelieve, and some to doubt, and yet a few who will find much to ponder upon in the characters here graven with a stylus of iron."
The words of the poet Poe had been dancing frantically about his mind for hours. Even now, as red paint met canvas, completing the illusion of a nude woman lying in a pool of blood on a dark, cobblestone street. He had always felt a strange connection when reading Edgar Allen Poe; as if he were gazing back in time at himself.
But Poe didnt know what he did.
No one did.
A maniacal cackle escaped his thin lips. They would know soon enough. He knew that he would never be joining Poe in the "region of shadows," he had his escape planned.
Standing from the rickety wooden stool, he buttoned his black shirt up to the collar and put the matching top-hat atop his thinning, dark hair. Blowing out the single candle on the dirty oak table, he grabbed his silver-handled cane and threw on his darkest cloak. Then he disappeared into the streets of Whitechapel, becoming a whisper in the shadows, a legend the likes of which had never been seen. r Paste your work here...
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