It’s beautiful Romantic The soft candle light casting warm shadows on the sides of the room. Cherry red rose petals litter the floor and there She Is

Gorgeous The centerpiece

She was beautiful before But now… She is luminescent

Her skin white and pale The pillows around her perfectly fluffed around her

Her red lips cracked in a smile

She wants this

and as the thick red liquid drips on the floor

I grin

You have been battered and shattered

Broken with scars that go all the way to mars

but beautiful words you wrote became someone's quote

thank you for this story starter even though life couldn't be harder

we all love you such, like, very very much

we will always miss you, and some of us might try and sue

come back soon you utterly amazing moon.

Oh, hello. My name is Andrew. Have you come to hear my sorry tale? I know, this room may look a bit odd, but it’s all metaphorical. Listen in and you may come to understand.

It was my first day on the job. Maybe it’s yours too, I don’t know. I was working in this very building. Floors 1, 2, 4, 5 and 6 were dedicated meeting rooms for confrences, and every floor upward of that was hotel rooms.

Yes, I know I didn’t mention the third floor. I’m getting to it.

Anyways, I was supposed to go to the fourth floor to prepare a room for a conference. But without realizing it, I pressed the wrong button and ended up on the third floor.

I walked into a hall with one single door at the end. This didn’t seem right, so I looked back at the elevator and saw that it said it was floor three. I should have turned around right there and then, walked straight into the elevator, and gone right back to my normal life. But I didn’t.

I felt a pull towards the door, as though some other entity was tugging at me, encouraging me to explore. I couldn’t stand my curiosity. I reached for the handl of the only door, and walked right into this room.

It was completely red. Completely red. Crimson walls reflected the bright blood-red lights beaming not that high above. In the middle of the room was a huge four poster bed with perfectly fitted maroon sheets and red pillows. And on the bed, splayed across it face-down, was a woman, blood trickling down her arm.

Being the fool I am, i ran to her side and felt her wrist that dangled off the bed. There was a pulse, but it was faint. “Are you okay?” I asked.

She moaned and sat up, looking me in the eye. “I- I think I’m okay…”

She smirked suddenly. “You? I’m not so sure.”

She bore down upon me with such severe force I started. Her mouth opened and I saw fangs.

Then she sliced down, and pain exploded in my arm. She bit me with all her force, giving me so much agony i howled.

“I’m free! I’m finally free! She shrieked with joy as she watched in amazement and mad wonder as the blood slowly vanished on her arm, healing her, and just before the last blemish vanished, I noticed two marks on her arm.

Much like the new ones on my arms right now.

The pain was becoming unbearable. I yelled and splayed myself across the bed, shuddering as I tried to endure the agony.

She patted me on back. “I’m sorry it had to be you. But it must be. The woman who bit me said so. But don’t worry, soon you will be released.”

She walked out the door then, a soul for another, as I lay on the bed, trying to quell the whimpering as spasms of pain rippled up my arm.

I couldn’t move, nor speak or cry out. I lay there for hours, days, weeks, was it months? I don’t know.

But then you came along, assumably by the same ways as I. And now the words of the woman make sense at last.

Don’t worry, soon someone will release you, too.

I’m sorry, though. In another world, we could have been friends.

Enjoy your time in this room. You may as well get to know it. You wil be here for a long, long time.

In the aftermath of a night of revelry, I return to a room steeped in scarlet, A canvas of crimson, walls echoing with the silence of a night gone awry. Rose petals lie scattered, a trail of velvet sorrow, A figure lies still, a silent witness to a tomorrow that will never come.

My heart races, a captive drum, pounding in my chest, Palms slick, a cold sweat betrays a fear that clings, uninvited. The air hangs heavy, a shroud that suffocates with each breath, The scent of death and iron greet my nostrils, As I stand before the bed, where the end begins, and life seems to withdraw.

The woman on the bed, a still figure cloaked in death's embrace, Her face, a familiar enigma, a puzzle pieced with my own grace. I reach out with a trembling hand,, to the cold that awaits my touch, Feeling death's weight, suffocating me, crushing my bones.

Turning her over, I'm met with my own eyes, empty of their dance, Blonde hair, once a radiant crown, now a crimson wreathed in shadows. Fingernails, caked with the earth, tell stories of a desperate claw, Track marks, constellations of pain, visible proof of a life in darkness.

And there, adorning the center of her chest, where a heart once beat, a void, an abyss that bleeds, Eyes, once Bright, now glossy and vacant, Crystal blue mirrors that reflect my own emptiness.

I am the girl in the midst of the rose petals. My body goes numb as I sink to the floor, Tears stain my cheeks, fist clinched in agony. The truth, a weight that drowns me in its tide.

How could this be? Who did this to me? Then I realize, I did this to me. I lay my head on my own gaping hollow chest, Taste the iron on my lips as I cry.

Tears mix with blood, as I stroke my matted hair. I hold myself close as I scream up at the sky. ‘’Why, God? Why?’’ I look into the eyes of my own self one last time, Close the once bright eyes and whisper, ‘’I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’’

I remember the day I saw her like that. Her body limp, lifeless, thrown across the bed like a meaningless doll. But her body was twisted, mutated. Red. Red blood. Covering her floppy carcass from head to foot. And then I saw where it was coming from. A deep gash in her side, the thin red juice trickling down onto the previously pristine, white bedsheets. My heart stopped as I gazed at her, useless, hopeless. Behind the delicate mask of crimson, I could barely make out her disfigured face, her eyes almost as wide open as her mouth, which looked as if it were a fish gasping desperately for air. She looked like she was in agony as her soul took its time to drift out of consciousness. Sweat trickled down my face. My hands shook and the knife dropped from my aching hands. I was the one who had plunged the blade into her fragile frame. I was the one who dragged it across her body, tearing her skin, allowing the blood to flow out, escape onto the carefully arranged rose petals on the bed. At that moment, I heard a knock on the door, a cacophony of shouting, screaming at me to let them in. I hurried over, ignored the blaring sirens and blazing, blue lights I could see out of the corner of my eye. I smiled to them as they pushed me down, secured my wrists together. I let myself be dragged out of the hotel. And then I laughed.

I step into the room, the walls are crimson and the lights red. Rose petals are strewn on the perfectly fitted bed. And there, on the fluffed pillows, lay a woman with blood trickling down her face.

I checked her pulse but she was already lifeless.

A few specks of blood stained her lovely white dress and her black hair that was carefully pulled back into a bun was now messy and loose. She was very pretty… and she was dead!

No, no, no, no, no! She’s dead, she can’t be dead! I need to get help!

I stumbled back out the room and ran to the dining room. I was scared, what had happened, was it deliberate. All eyes fell on me as push in screaming: “She’s dead! She’s dead!”

Everyone started yelling at me.

“Who’s dead!?”

“What do you mean!?”

“What are you talking about!?”

There were too many people talking at once for me to answer.

Lord Deira stood and signalled for the noise to stop.

“She’s dead!” I screamed again.

“Who’s dead?” Lord Deira asked.

“Lady Deira!”

“Oh, we know.” He said calmly.

“What… what do you mean?” I stutter.

“I mean, we already know she’s dead.”

“How can you already know she’s dead?” I thought I already knew the answer.

“Because it was me.” Lord Deira snapped his fingers and everyone else disappeared.

I looked around, somehow expecting everyone else to jump out behind me but they were all just… gone.

“What… how did… where…?” I stammer.

“Oh, don’t worry, they were never real.” His voice is still as calm as it was at the beginning of the night.

“Never real?” I ask confused.

“Doesn’t matter.” He said with a sense of finality.

“You… killed her!?” I went back to that topic because I wasn’t sure what to say about everyone vanishing.

“Yes.” I was surprised at how calm he was. “And now I must kill you.”

Right when he has done the job, he dropped his gun, regret hit him like a wave.

/Maybe if I get there fast enough, I could still save her,/ Elemarus thought to himself. He ran out the door, not bothering to close it behind him.

This was a horrible mistake. If only he had never gotten involved with these people. If only he weren’t so foolish. But Elemarus had no time for such considerations. He needed to get to her before it was too late.

Marus (the nickname in which most referred to him) skipped many steps as he finally got to the main floor. His feet hit the ground, hard.

/Stay alive, Beth,/ he kept commanding in his head. /Stay alive, I’m coming. I’m coming, and then after your safe, you never have to see me again./

He ran out the door, his brown hair bouncing on his forehead. He’d never sprinted so fast in his whole life.

Elemarus made it into the building and ran past the secretary and standby security guards. They shouted at him to stop, but he did no such thing.

A life without her was no life at all. It was fine if she absolutely despised him for this, afterwards, because she should. Even /he/ hated himself.

With hands so shaky, he pressed the button to her floor as fast as possible. Once the elevator doors opened, he was running down the halls trying to find her room number.

/Please, be okay. Please./

Finally, he found it. The door was locked. He stood back and kicked it open with all his strength. His ankle hurt badly from the impact, but he ignored the pain and pushed through the door.

“Beth,” he called. There was no answer. “Bethany!”

But once he made it to her bed, he found her. She was laying on there with white sheets stained red, and roses strewn across the beautiful fabric when she knocked over the vase trying to steady herself.

The memory of his mistake was unbearable. The expression of pain that immediately consumed her beautiful portrait when the bullet connected with her skin was daunting.

Elemarus ran to her. She was coughing up blood. It turned her lips a deep color and stained her face.

The cream-colored gown she had on was ruined. There was a hole where the bullet shot through.

He jumped onto the bed and grabbed her hands. His fingers slipped on hers due to the amount of blood.

“Beth,” his voice cracked. “Beth, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, Beth. Please don’t go. Don’t sleep.”

Her deep, brown eyes were wide and petrified. She tried to pull away from him. He felt it in the way her hands kept shaking and her breathing became more hard. Never had Beth ever looked at him like she was now. He knew it. Elemarus was a monster.

Murus’s head turned upward to the window, as a voice rung in his head. “I’m in position. Just tell me when.” Elemarus had forgotten his tiny communication chip was still in his ear.

He saw a barely visible figure in all black staring down at Beth and him. And then he witnessed the man raise his gun.

/No./

In one, swift movement, Marus lifted his hand to the chip and pressed it. “Stop,” he yelled. “Fall back—!”

But it was too late. In a flash, the windows weak glass broke, and the bullet hit Beth just under her heart.

Elemarus Crude stared in horror. She sucked in one last breath, but stilled before she could exhale.

Her eyes were still just as wide. She did not move. Her chest no longer rose and fell, and the blood pooled in the matted flesh of her skin.

“Beth,” he said. “Beth?” He shook her even though he knew she was gone. “Beth, please!” He was shaking and collapsed onto her lifeless body. Tears fell from his eyes. His hands grabbed small clumps of her dress.

“Damnit,” he yelled. He looked up for just a moment. His blurry eyes struggled to fix onto the figure that still stood, staring at them. “Fuck you,” he cursed. He put a bloodied finger to the button and spoke those exact words again. His voice was trembling and his finger struggled to hold down on the chip.

He glared at the man in black and watched him stalk away from the window after Elemarus cursed him.

Then he turned back to Beth and held her face. Her teeth were stained and her blonde hair was as well. “Shit,” he said. It was all he was able to get out. “No, no, no, no, no…”

He kissed her face and begged her to return.

Marus knew his mistake was great. It would stick with him forever, to the end of time. He did not even feel sorry for himself. Elemarus knew this was his own doing. It was nobody else’s, although he was compelled to think otherwise.

When security came bursting into the room, what happened after that was a blur. The last thing Elemarus Crude remembered, were sets of arms prying him from Bethany. His Bethany. His love that he killed.

He remembered trying to resist arrest. He wanted to stay with Beth. But one of the guards hit him over the head, and everything went black.

When he woke, he was in a blank room. It was small and cramped. He sat up and nearly passed out. His head was bandaged and he was undoubtedly in a cell.

There was a single toilet, a bar of soap, a shower with a curtain. The floor was white tiled and just infront of him was a wall of metal bars.

This was the price Elemarus would pay for his wrongdoing. This is what he deserved. He wanted no better and he knew he deserved worse.

He stared at the floor, recalling the circumstances of, what seemed to him, only moments ago.

Crude would never be the same. Maybe that was for the best.

Lamentable, to think that it took someone he loved dearly, dying, in order for him to finally admit to his wicked ways.

The more Elemarus Crude stared at the ground, the more heavy his body became. He fell off the bed to the ground, and held himself. Marus curled up like a frightened child and wept.

As tears fell from his eyes, the man spoke in a low, breathy tone; “Too late. Too late. Far, far too late…”

No action is without consequence…

You were told to come here at exactly midnight in a note written in red ink that you found placed on your messy desk. When you read it, it brought you into a state of unease but still you came and now your eyes are forced to stare upon this grisly sight. The woman lying on the pillow is wearing red satin gloves but what stands out is the loose-fitting black dress she wears drenched in blood. There are streams of blood coming from her skin like rivers of sweat after a day of an intense workout at the gym. Yet, you wonder what injury is the worst offender that leaves this lifeless body drowning in an ocean of red.

Surrounding her body are rose petals along with shards of…you move closer and see mirror shards amongst the roses. Your body shivers as the chill in the room knocks on you for passage. Or perhaps it’s the chill of death searching for a new victim. Either way, the cold makes a home in you. Rubbing your upper arms you hope to force it out but it does nothing so you pull the strings of your blood-red hood tighter as if that could force out the cold settling within you. Again, the cold stakes a claim in you.

The closer view of the body in front of you leaves you more puzzled than deductive. Like a puppeteer is controlling you, your hand reaches out to touch the body but soon you gain control back as you jerk it backward. If you touched the body you’d link yourself to the crime but then you remember the security cameras scattered throughout the property that have already caught sight of your inky black hair along with your crimson painted lips. Your face wasn’t unique for you shared it with another by the name of Snow. She was your twin sister who dyed her hair a sun-glow blonde when you were both fifteen so it’d be easier for people to tell you apart. Although in recent years, she’s gone back to her nature giving color but her hair was long like the list of men that revered her while yours was cut short like an act no one wanted to see.

You had to touch the body. It was the best way to get a closer look and maybe even solve this crime. This may be the first murder you stumbled into in a while but this wasn’t your first case. The first case you ever took was the Goldilocks murder where a strand of golden blonde hair was left behind at every scene. The victims were all members of an elite family known as the Bears who were being taken out one by one. Luckily, you caught the murderer, a young woman named Gail “Goldie” Collins who was conspiring with the family's biggest rivals to steal their massive fortune. While you were working the case, you became close with a bear's cousin by the name of Jett Bear who even had you work out a blackmail situation with him after you provided justice for his family. For a time, you were close with him and he dropped by your office almost every morning to bring you a strawberry tart along with a steaming cup of coffee. You remembered how sad you were one day when he told you that he was planning on leaving the small town of Wanderington to go back to his big city life back east. There was something you desperately wanted to tell him but words were never your strength. His plans in life changed, however, on a cold day when you were out investigating a case you deemed the glass slipper.

At your office that day was your sister Snow who sat in your worn desk chair reapplying her makeup and with just one look, Jett Bear had fallen in love. Men tended to fall for your sister in an instant and she was fully aware of the spells she’d cast upon their unsuspecting hearts but in that particular moment, your sister had the grace to cast the spell upon herself too. The wedding they had almost a year later was as showy and bland as their love yet every attendee ate up the sight like it was spicy blueberry pie day down at Wolf’s Blow Down, the best and only diner in town. At the wedding, you were your sister’s shadow as her maid of honor and spent the whole time struggling to glue a smile on your face. You remembered the time after the wedding when you were helping her pull up her dress so she could pee. You stood there awkwardly holding up the train, clinging to it like it could transport you out of the bathroom stall.

“Rosie,” your sister said while half-sitting on the toilet bowl. “Did you remember the doves for my second entrance?”

“It’s hard to forget a van full of birds, Snow,” You responded in a cool tone, hoping your sister couldn’t tell the horrors you went through to round them up this morning after one of the cages accidentally opened.

“Great, and you also have the second pair of shoes right?”

“Yes, I have them in my bag. Are you sure you don’t want to change into your second outfit early?”

Snow shook her head and then finished up her business in the bathroom. She leaves the stall first and you follow behind her while still holding her train so it doesn’t get dirty. Stopping in front of a sink, she admires her reflection. It was always odd to you how your sister never appeared flawed. As a teen, when you started getting acne breakouts almost monthly your sister had flawless clear skin straight out of an air-brushed magazine ad. Sometimes you wondered if you were cursed to take on all the imperfections of you both. Whether it was acne breakouts, bruises and cuts from falling off bikes or whatever, or even a simple bug bite there was never any blemish on your sister's skin. Meanwhile, you were once bitten by a bee and had such a major reaction to it that your head grew three sizes. Even then at the wedding, as you gazed at your reflection in the bathroom mirror you looked exhausted and like a deflated balloon but the bride, oh, she looked as if every mirror in the universe had personally blessed her.

“No, I want to wear this dress as long as possible.”

And that she did. She didn’t change her dress until your fifth dance with Jett’s brother whose hands were getting too low for your liking. You remembered when you were so close to punching him and how the lovely couple danced beside you both with annoying knowing smiles.

“We might have a future wedding on our hands,” Snow giggled, sounding like a youth in a schoolyard telling someone they got cooties.

The posture of your already stiffened dance got stiffer as you looked over to Jett who stared at your sister with so much love and admiration in his eyes that it made you sick. As they danced away from you, you gripped Jett’s brother’s neck so hard that he cried out in pain.

A chiming sound is heard in the room, taking you away from the hostile dance your mind was stuck in. Coming aware of your surroundings again, you spot a wall clock that shows that it’s now one in the morning. Outside the door, you hear the sound of people talking in the hallway but their speech sounds slurred and rowdy as if they don’t plan on being there for too long. You tune them out, focusing on your previous intentions to flip the body over. Again, your hand goes outward but this time it grabs hold of the bloody shoulder and you flip the corpse over.

You recognize the face in an instant and why wouldn’t you as it was a mirror of your own.

“Snow,” you say, horrified, then back away.

The floor under your feet feels like it’s lifting up higher and higher till it tilts to a point where you have no choice but to fall. Minutes later after catching your frightful breaths, you get up and look towards the door as a means to escape this terrifying reality. Shaking your head, you refuse to believe it but you pick up her arm and wipe the blood to see the matching mirror tattoo she has on her wrist. From the tattooed mirror, drips blood that causes you to drop her arm in horror. It’s like a fog has been lifted from your eyes and you see that your sister is not wearing a dress but a garbage bag covered in blood. You also notice the bloody sweat covering her body are actually small precise cuts carved in her now blemished skin.

“Who could—“ you couldn’t finish the sentence.

You reach into the pocket of your red hood to pull out your phone, unable to see your sister in this state but your phone isn’t in your pocket. Instead, you feel a sharp pain and you pull out the offender to find a large mirror shard piece covered in blood…more blood than the tiny cut on your finger bleeds.

I stood there with a pale and blank expression on my face. I couldn’t find the words to describe the horrific scene I was witnessing. The blood was dripping in rhythm from one of the overdrawn bedsheets, as if death was keeping tempo. This one was just like the others. The bed, covered in white roses and leather straps, contained streaks of blood that told of an attempt to flee. Like the others, the longer you looked, the worst it got. The red tint from the lights and the crimson walls surely hid more horrors as well.

 On the bed lay a young woman, possibly early thirties, with her back opened from the rear of her head down to her tail bone. The rib cage had been ripped open and lungs lay delfated, hanging just outside her body. The liver had been removed with a precision of a surgeon who had years of experience. 

As the grunts from the local precinct began pouring in, I watched as they all turned and ran, searching for a place to vomit. Aside from the gory scene on the bed, the stench was almost unbearable. Blood had began to coagulate in some areas and the rich iron smell of fresh blood was giving way to the rot of decomposition.

“Just like the Welton lady?” Mitch said as he covered his mouth with his trusted handkerchief.

“Exactly like the Welton lady.” I said without a hesitation.

We both knew we were dealing with someone or something that showed no empathy for human life. The actions that had taken place here were almost animal like, but the approach was driven by an absolute hatred for women.

“Think it’s possible that this guy’s got it out for prostitutes only?” Mitch questioned while holding back the urge to vomit.

“Nah. This guy or whatever did it, considers himself an artist.” I muttered while still examining the room.

“This took too much time. If it was an act of hatred then he would be in and out, on to the next one. Whoever did this wanted his work to be photographed. He wanted it to be remembered.” I said while walking around the forenscics team.

The forensics team had began to swab every crevice in the room. Their diligence didn’t matter though. The artist knew where to cover his tracks. He or she knew where every drop of blood would land; where every spec of possible evidence would be found. As the team continued their work of recovering anything they could, I laughed to Mitch.

“These guys are wasting their time. Whoever did this knew that the their art would be photographed and combed through. They won’t find so much as a puece of dead skin from the killer.”

As we stepped outside to gather our thoughts and light a smoke, I couldn’t help but think of what scene the next victim would look like. The colors of the rooms were all vibrant in these previous death traps. The victims were contorted and displayed with malice yet meticulous precision. The artist knew everything they were doing. They knew that their paint would dry slowly. We were all just observers in his or her gallery of death.

"Is she hot?" Damien asked.

Tony's eyes narrowed, he felt like hurling his phone across his bedroom and out the window, that wasn't the response he was hoping for. "Really?" He sneered. "That's your damn response to what I've just told you?"

Tony could hear Damien's shrug through the phone. "Well, what else do you want me to say? I already told you to call the police."

Tony closed his eyes and shook his head. The dead woman lying naked and face down on his bed in a pile of fresh rose petals was "hot", but he felt weird admitting that to Damien, the words felt dirty on the tip of his tongue. Her rear end was perfectly rounded, and the caramel skin throughout her body was pristine. Her long, and wavy brown hair looked silky-smooth under his bedroom lights.

"Do you know who she is?" Damien asked.

He did. And why was that? Tony hadn't seen her face, but something about her looked familiar. He took a cautious step forward, the bottoms of his feet still acclimating to the feeling of fresh rose petals instead of hardwood. "I'm going to turn her around."

"Dude, I think you should leave your apartment and just call the cops. I think turning her around is a bad idea."

"I'm putting you on speaker," Tony said. He did just that and placed his phone on his nightstand.

He inched forward, setting his trembling hands on the woman's shoulders. Her skin was ice cold, but so smooth. He felt weird touching her, and at that moment he regretted it, wishing that he had taken Damien's advice and left his apartment to call the cops. He took a deep breath; the hairs of his nostrils becoming entangled with the aroma of fresh roses and flipped her over.

Tony knew the dead girl all too well. He recognized the smile on her dead face, her gorgeous blue eyes that looked like the sky, the perfect smile that showed a mouthful of perfect teeth. He recognized her perfectly rounded breasts as they swayed from left to right before lying still. Tony snatched his phone from the nightstand, his palm thick with sweat.

"Dude it's her." His words felt coarse as they passed through his lips.

"Who?" Damien spat. "Dude, what's going on? Did you flip her around?"

"It's her!" Tony hissed. "Ally from high school."

Damien didn't respond, and for a moment he thought the call had been dropped. Tony was close to calling back when Damien finally responded. "That's fucking impossible Tony. Ally's been dead for twenty years."

And just like that Tony was transported back to the year 2004, back to the month of May when he and Damien's lives changed forever. He closed his eyes as the feeling of nausea consumed his body, he fought against his trembling hands as he struggled to keep hold of his phone. He could hear the laughter over Damien's car engine as they ripped through Shadowbrook Canyon. He could hear the cracking of beer cans, and he could smell the beer that they drank that night, he could still taste it after all these years. And then there was the squeal of brakes into the empty night, the sound of Damien's car colliding with a tree. Tony's chest began to heave, the same way it did that night before he broke down into tears. He can see the roses at the edge of the cliff, swaying from left to right as they moved with the Spring breeze. He never did forget the sight of Ally Prescot's body at the bottom of the cliff, the image of her bloody corpse on the rocks. He could still hear the ocean as it pulled her body into the water, never to be seen again.

Tony opened his eyes. At some point, he'd dropped his phone, it lay on the floor in a sea of rose petals. Damien was still talking, but he couldn't hear a word he was saying. Ally's beautiful blue eyes had moved, and she was staring directly back at him, her smile was for him now. Tony tried to scream but he couldn't, it was like it was being held hostage within his chest. Ally sat up, her eyes and her smile never leaving him. Tony stumbled backward on trembling legs, his feet moving from the petals and onto the hardwood, and then his heels bumped into the dumbbells he had placed under his windowsill.

Tony felt his back collide with the glass, he felt the shatter and the shards as they cut through his skin. The sound of the shattering glass made his ears ring as his skin bled. And then he fell for twenty stories, landing with a sickening thud on the pavement in front of his apartment. The impact of the fall made his body unrecognizable. The last thing Tony saw was Ally's smile, the same smile that had haunted him for twenty years.