Sunset. The last orange gleams of the day's sunshine shimmer, then fade. The dark Victorian streets are bathed in what seems like an impenetrable darkness, yet a young woman ventures out on foot, illuminating her path with a oil lamp. Her shallow breathing and the clatter of her shoes are the only sound in the city, and as she realises this, her already anxious breathing gets shorter. What was she thinking? There had been so many killings recently. Even the wind had been silenced, she thought, and as she hurried on, the only thing she could make out were the pale illusions of the four mutilated souls, wailing pitifully. Suddenly, the apparitions were replaced by gentle descent of soft snow. The ground was soon covered, and her cascading red hair was glistening with frozen droplets, forming intricate patterns; almost like a spider's web. Though she already had numb fingers, she stopped to look at the beauty surrounding her. Even the old work houses and factories seemed less patronising.
While she was contemplating the city, something approached, stealthy as a cat chasing its prey. Unaware, she continued walking, slower and more trustingly. He always acted whenever there was snow; the victims, suddenly entranced by the falling snow were less wary. Only a few more steps, then she would be as silent as the streets surrounding her. She changed direction, and he was taken aback. Her hair suddenly radiated light, creating a sort of halo around her. He would have to attack sooner than he expected.
A piercing scream woke the city next morning. The children were admiring the snow, the milkmaid was delivering the milk, yet something was different. Nowadays, snow always meant something atrocious, and everyone was praying that this scream had been one of joy, though no one could persuade themselves. Tragically, they were right. The halo of light beaming around our woman's head had been replaced by a more sinister crown; one of her own blood. Everyone was up in arms; surely not another one! Why such beautiful girls, who could have been so prosperous, not been allowed the chance to bloom like the snowdrops? And what sort of villain could possibly be roaming the streets of our good queen Victoria...?
The angelic corpse, gently laid down on the cover of snow, was never taken away. The massive spread of tuberculosis left many people unable to move, and whole families were wiped out. The snow began to fall again, soon turning into a thin sheet of ice, then later, it became thicker. The body, still immobile was covered and prevented to decompose by the cold. No one paid attention as the fallen angel became immersed in winter.
Two hundred years later, archaeologists were excavating what was soon to become the new Olympic stadium. It was still winter, and a bitter breeze was making all of them regret their beds. The snow was enveloping the site, and numbing their minds. A sparkle alerted one of them. He rushed over to the source, happily thinking that this would prove to his wife that he did love her. Sadly for him, tonight, he would not give his wife the jewellery he discovered, because it already belonged to someone...
His heartbeat faltered as he saw what the ring was attached to. He gingerly called his team over to inspect his encounter. As they meticulously excavated the frozen grave, a lock of red hair fell out.