The curtains, like ghosts, flutter in the moonlight.
Their is something by the door of Shelley's room. A pool of red spread across the floor, and the body of a woman lying beside it.
In the moonlight, a knife could be seen buried in the wreckage of her throat. There was a small trail, upon inspection. The blood was spattered where her hands lay like a puddle where a child had been playing. The blood was still fresh under her nails from when she had tried to crawl away, still unwilling to die.
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The curtains, like ghosts, flutter in the moonlight.
Their is something by the door of Shelley's room. A pool of red spread across the floor, and the body of a woman lying beside it.
In the moonlight, a knife could be seen buried in the wreckage of her throat. There was a small trail, upon inspection. The blood was spattered where her hands lay like a puddle where a child had been playing. The blood was still fresh under her nails from when she had tried to crawl away, still unwilling to die.