Rosalind clawed through her hair, making an odd, uneven crisscross. She groaned; she had spent so much time making sure it was perfect this morning. Rosa threw her hair back, tapping her foot in time to the honey-coated voice of the receptionist. Her voice was angelic, like music. The receptionist was beautiful; Rosa couldn’t help but steal glances at her every second she was distracted. She may have been a little fake - that seemed to be her job; pretend to be nice and welcoming - but she was Rosa’s soulmate. There was a little name tag pinned on the receptionist’s uniform: Tasmin.

Rosa knotted her eyebrows. Tasmin sounded eerily familiar, but she did not have time to ponder, as Tasmin gave Rosa a smile. A smile that Rosa had not expected. It was a lot of things; malignant, showing so much malice, yet... it was a little flirtatious too. Rosalind stared at Tasmin, who gave a small wave. Rosa’s insides clawed, hungry for Tasmin, hungry for more of Tasmin’s flirty-ish acts. Her cascade of ribbony blonde hair was more than desirable, and her fair, pale skin, her eyes, brighter than light bulbs and bluer than the sea. Tasmin was... perfect.

Time slowed as Tasmin walked over to Rosa; the lights seemed to flicker, but that was in her imagination, right? Ribbons of light bounced off Tasmin, her irresistible beauty radiating off the world. Everyone seemed to be staring at her.

‘Hi, I’m Tasmin,’ She said in that sugar-coated voice that Rosa so wished to have,’ Would you like some coffee?’

Rosa stared at her, wide eyed.

The lights switched off. Tasmin’s figure flickered to black and red, as she smiled vindictively at her. Tasmin placed an icy-cold hand on Rosa’s face.

‘Don’t forget me so quickly.’

Rosa looked at Tasmin’s face.... No, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t be Wynter! Wynter - her first girlfriend - was dead. Wynter was dead because Rosa was cheating... Because Rosa couldn’t work up the guts to break up with her... So she hit her with a car. And ran.

‘No... I- Wynter... I-‘ All colour drained from Rosa’s face as Tasmin wielded a knife, so sharp and so frosty that it had already stabbed Rosa with its threatening glares.

‘Wynter, let’s talk this through-‘ Rosa tried to reason,’ I-I missed you, I-‘

Wynter laughed; laughed a sweet, girlish laugh, sugarcoated in both dole and joy. She stabbed the knife in Rosa’s body, and loomed over the soon-to-be corpse.

‘Next time, little Rosalind, don’t lie and don’t kill. Try not to be a psychopath next time. That’s my job, dear. Now night-night.’

Blood permeated from Rosalind’s body, and black screened Rosa’s eyes. The life left Rosa.

‘Next is Rosalind Juneberries,’ The secretary called,’ Rosalind? Miss Juneberries?’

Unnoticed by the secretary, the receptionist at the desk smirked malignantly, sheathing a knife, covered in Rosalind’s blood.

Rosalind wouldn’t be missed.