• Grell could never quite say when he had started loving red.

    It seemed to him that he had just sort of always loved crimson hues. Always.

    Even as a young child, if he were to have some sort of minor accident and cut his skin, instead of crying out in horror like other children, he would watch the red liquid with nothing less than fascination, and even feel disappointed when the time came to close up the wound and let it heal.

    As he grew older, he began to discover not just red was what he loved, but a sick delight for the macabre, for blood and gore. It was beyond a mere liking; it was an obsession. An unquenchable thirst. He would even venture to call it a fetish, if he felt so inclined. He at least had the sense to keep it, for the most part, secret.

    Until he met her.

    When he came across a certain Angelina "Madame Red" Dalles, it was like a dream come true for him. An independent, strong, free-thinking woman who wore only red...who also adored red, who also delighted in painting people with their own life essence, though she targeted a specific brand. Not that Grell Sutcliff minded that in the least. She alone understood the artistic nuances of their work as Jack the Ripper, which they eventually became.

    She was everything he wanted. A soul sister, really!

    And then she had been so disappointing. Able to kill so many of those disgusting broads, but unable to kill a single brat. How sentimental. It was stupid of her, really.

    "I'm so disappointed in you, Madame Red! I can't say I care a shred for this plain woman you've become!"

    And he had painted her in her own blood, just as they had done together with so many people before, and ended her life.

    In the end, he supposed he might have regretted it. He doubted he would ever encounter such perfection as she had been at her peak, ever again. He had no doubt that other women might emerge as coldhearted killers, but none would ever achieve the splendor that was Madam Red.

    How sad.

    Even after, no pun intended, reaping the consequences of his actions with her, Grell still unabashedly loved red. Nothing would ever change that, no, no. Secretly, he made a goal to paint the entire world red, though not with their blood this time. No, he would have to go about this in a more subtle way.

    He supposed he could start by badgering William to wear red once in a while. That would be something.