I OWN NOTHING HERE! FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY!

Prologue
I HANDED YOU A KNIFE AND MY HEART

Her youthful flush color had drained from her much like the very blood from her veins upon the bedding on which she lay. Such a foul image for one to behold, but in some twisted way it only seemed to enhance her exquisite beauty, like a lily on a grave. Today is April 16th, 1898. I am a sketch artist who lives in a small town called Slough, which is situated nineteen miles west of Charing Cross on the outskirts of Greater London. I am here to tell you a story. A story that will torture your thoughts by day and poison your dreams by night. And though I will do my best, there are no words that can be written nor brush strokes laid on canvas that could describe the stark and utter horror of the night that Annabel died. The emptiness will haunt you…