On this day, one we were supposed to cherish for eternity, I wept on top of Jack the Ripper’s journals. I could not control my sorrow, and I cried until the sun rose, turning the sky a vicious, deep red. Once I’d exhausted myself, I fell unwillingly into a fitful sleep. There, the devil waited, his lips pulled into a sneer. I’d once again fallen into my own personal Hell. This time I couldn’t tell what was worse—my dreams or my reality.
