The Yielding

She often walked these streets alone at night, she was not afraid. Fear was the furthest feeling she felt on these dark, cold, wet cobblestone sidewalks. Instead, she felt a bit of a yearning for something to help her feel alive in these uptight Victorian times. The people around her were as tightly wound as the corset laces that were wrapped around her, and she wanted nothing but to unwind these laces. So, she took to these streets at dusk looking for a thrill, anything to help her feel something other than being a proper lady.

Hearing word of this Ripper character was exactly what she had been looking for. Every evening at the same time after dinner when the men in her house took to the parlor for their brandy, she would sneak out the side door looking for that bit of life she felt was missing. The ladies of the house never noticed as they were too busy gossiping about their so-called friends while playing cards. 

On her secret excursions she was left feeling empty more times than not. People rarely looked in her direction because they were so preoccupied with their vices, the prostitutes with their clients in the alleys, the gamblers in the seedy pubs, and drunks lying in their own vomit and defecation didn’t even know she was in their presence watching. Her favorite pastime was sitting in a random pub watching the drunks hassle the prostitutes, those were the funniest, most exciting people to watch. The prostitutes were anything but the proper lady she was raised to be, and they seemed to possess the type of freedom she wished she had. She admired them but was too shy to speak so she sat in silent reverence. 

She knew these women were a favorite of the Ripper’s, but she’d give anything to come face to face with that dangerous excitement. The prostitutes were so afraid they wouldn’t go anywhere alone; they were always in small clusters. She was not scared at all. She invited the danger. Tonight, rather than wearing her usual attire, she opted to leave the top of her blouse loose to allow a little more cleavage to show. She tousled her hair and wore heavier makeup in an attempt to mimic the look of the women she grew to admire in the hopes of meeting the Ripper. 

She roamed the streets for what felt like hours after getting bored at the pub and was just about ready to head home when a tall, strange figure appeared before her. He was taller than any man she’d ever met, he was handsome, well dressed in a cape and top hat, and flashed a sly grin at her.

She knew this was the man she’d been looking for. He offered her a ride in his carriage, she declined knowing he would insist. He grabbed her arm tightly and firmly guided her to his carriage. She stepped in and he knew right away she was no prostitute; he was intrigued that this lady would be out dressed in such a fashion at this time of night. Didn’t she know he was hunting women? 

She sat beside him on the plush seat of his carriage and breathed heavily with excitement. So that was it he figured it out, she wanted him, she wanted this. He leaned in to smell her perfume, she was not afraid, and he was turned on by her fearlessness. He kissed her gently and stroked her on the cheek. Beautiful. He leaned back into him and whispered one word in his ear, “Yes.” He slit her throat in one smooth motion and watched her slowly close her eyes and welcome the death he offered her.