""What?"
"You'll be dispatched to London," William repeated.
"But London is one of the biggest cities – it probably has the highest death count!" Grell protested, "Wi-ill, it's going to take forever to collect all the souls, and I couldn't possibly do it all alone –"
"And that is exactly why you're stationed there," said William, his facial expression stoic and perpetual. "You've gotten our department into trouble countless times before and this will hopefully teach you a lesson."
The dispatch manager pushed his glasses up the bridge of his sculpted nose and muttered under his breath, "probably not."
Grell ignored his last sentence and pouted. Will's expression didn't change. She grabbed her assignment papers and turned on her heel with flounces of fabric floating behind her. She hoped that made William feel guilty.
But as he had said, probably not.
She grabbed her beloved chainsaw from the weapons archive and said goodbye to the few other Grim Reapers she knew.
---------------
Grell had only been to London once before, and that was almost a century ago, when she was still a reaper in training - when she'd finally admitted to herself that she wasn't a man and had never been.
Now it was much more developed, polluted with perfumes and silks in one part, and rags and unwanted children in another. And Grell was in charge of the latter. Sighing dramatically, she decided to visit a tailor's shop to indulge herself – although she was unable to purchase anything of such decadence.
The nearest shop was on a small avenue off of the crowded main boulevards full of carriages and aristocrats. The window display said "HOPKINS" in curling lettering and showed stylish red and black dresses in fall and winter fashion, with gorgeously paneled bodices and meticulous embroidery and silk roses.
Grell pushed open the door as a bell chimed, announcing her presence.
"Hello?"
No answer.
Inside the small shop were mannequins dressed in elegant evening gowns of silk, lace, satin, and chiffon, of pastels and deep jewel tones. An array of children's day clothing was draped on several petite mannequins, all lined up in a row. Various hats decorated with peacock feathers and imitation roses tilted aesthetically on eyeless faces.
Further inside the shop, there was an imported changing screen, with embroidery techniques and styles unique to China. Grell saw two curvaceous silhouettes behind it; one was a customer being fitted into a gown and the other was a woman helping her into it. Judging by the size of the shop, the only staff would be the tailor, so it must have been the seamstress herself. She caught a glimpse of the customer as her head peeked out on one side of the screen.
She had bright red hair twisted in an elaborate braided bun. Voluminous lashes framed her amber eyes.
For the love of all things morbid and macabre, her eyes.
They burned with an intensity and reserved power, but beneath all the vivaciousness and fiery passion was an emptiness. Her eyes were no longer eyes but voids. Just from that split second, Grell could tell this woman had seen death.
And enjoyed it – just like she had.
YOU ARE READING
An Indifferent Attitude Towards Murder
Fanfiction"Certainly not Grell's idea of real fun - bloodshed was entertaining to twisted creatures like them, who saw through shattered glass, so only the worst parts of reality were visible - but it was unexpected, and that was what made Angelina so compell...
