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THE LAST OF LUCY

She ho-the-bloody-ever she wanted to be Whoever men wanted her to be Mary Jane Kelly Marie Jeanette Uncle Henry&039;s niece Miss Lucy She&039;d be Ellen Terry if it helped

John sat by her bedside She was telling hiht on the heath when his precious Lucy had given the Dark Kiss Now she told the story as if she were Lucy, and Mary Jane some other person, sory, so new&039;

It was easy to kno Lucy had felt They had both been gripped by the sa from death-sleep The same desperate, bottomless thirst Only Lucy awoke in a crypt, respectfully laid out and mourned for Mary Jane was on a cart,other unclaimed bodies

&039;She was just an Irish whore Of no importance, John But she ar in her sweet neck&039;

He was listening, head bobbing She supposed he was ood for her Earlier, with the strange toff, he had protected her That madman, with his talk of Jack the Ripper, had threatened her, and John Seward fought him off She&039;d not expected him to be so valiant in her defence

&039;The children hadn&039;t been enough, John My thirst was terrible, eating me inside&039;

Mary Jane had been confused by the new desires It had taken her weeks to adjust That ti Mary Jane&039;s memories She was Lucy

With his doctor&039;s hand, John se of the considerate lover She&039;d seen him from another side earlier When he cut down the toff with a knife His face had been different when he stabbed John told her she was avenged, and she knew he meant Lucy The toff had destroyed Lucy But with his death, that part of the story ashed from John&039;s mind Perhaps it would come to her as she became more Lucy and less Mary Jane As Lucy&039;s memories seeped into her mind, Mary Jane slowly sank into a dark sea

Mary Jane had not lad to see her so drowned In the cold, dark depths, it would be easy for Mary Jane to fall asleep and wake up entirely as Lucy

But, her heart caught

It was hard to keep pace as things changed but it was important to make the effort John was her best hope for escape from this poor room, from these mean streets Eventually, she&039;d have him keep her in a house in the better part of the city She&039;d have fine clothes and servants And well-spoken children with pure, sweet blood

She was sure the toff deserved to die He&039;d beenin Miller&039;s Court, waiting for him Danny Dravot was not the Ripper He was just another old soldier, full of lies about heathens he&039;d slaughtered and broenches he&039;d bedded