> "If God won't listen, then let the devil be the one who answers."
— Charles August Milverton
Amid the stench of stale alcohol, dried blood, and cheap perfume lingering in the air, a young boy with jet-black hair let out a soft chuckle. He was lying on the creaking wooden floor of a brothel deep in the heart of Whitechapel—a shadowed corner of London so forsaken that even the moon refused to shine upon it.
His name was Charles.
He was eight years old.
And despite being born into a dying world, he always smiled.
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