“The knife belongs to me,” she gasps aloud, her throat closing as her eyes roll in death.

The blade is in her stomach, blood like cranberry runs from her stab wound, more oozes from her mouth. She blinks hard, her mouth agape. Something pierces my back, sharp and cold against my warm flesh.

She grins wickedly, twisting the blade in my back. A scream escapes my lips, I twist over her and she slumps. Together, we bleed matching puddles that meet in the middle.

“I love you,” she whispers to me quietly.

“I love you most,” I reply as we meet Death.