Prologue

EARLY DECEMBER, 1891, OXFORD STREET, LONDON

He watched…

From the shadows as streetlights slowly glowed to life along the sidewalk, mist wrapping around the golden light...

As icy rain began to fall...

As a young woman crossed the street and entered the print shop.

He watched. Then crossed the street, and waited.

There was no sense of time, only the waiting.

Then, the sound of the merchant's bell above the door, a printer by trade. And she was there, a package tucked under her arm as she paused and drew the collar of her jacket up against the damp and cold, then turned.

The waiting was over. He saw the surprise in her soft blue eyes, a question she might have asked.

Then, after all this time, it was quickly done.

He gently lowered her to the sidewalk, her expression startled, her lips moving as the last breath left her, the contents of the package scattered to the pavement stones. Ink on the invitations ran like blood.

"Forgive me," he whispered as he laid a single red rose across her body, then disappeared into the night.