this story is available on my blog! go check it out! (replace ~ with . ) theliterarycove~blogspot~com ---- Her blood is silver, like the tip of a blade. I know that’s why she was chosen. Silver is everywhere—on the cracked tiles, on the peeling yellow walls, on her pale, porcelain skin. Her yellow hair is spread around her head like a halo, a symbol of her purity. But I know she is anything but. A thief. A trickster. A killer. The blade is still lodged in her heart, and I don’t need to touch her to know her body is still warm. It only happened moments before. Chills dance up my spine, and blood pulses in my ears. Danger is here. A voice inside me whispers. There’s no going back now—I’m knee deep in danger. My eyes lock on her body one final time, before breaking away. No one deserves this fate. No one deserves an end this horrid. Sucking in a breath, I slowly slink into the kitchen. The faint glow of the sun rising bounces off the reflecting surface of the floor, illuminating the crimson on the black and white checkered tiles. My heart slams against my ribs, and I feel my teeth breaking the thin skin of my lips. Why another? Wasn’t one body enough? His body is sprawled across the blood-splattered tiles—placed there so I could easily view the scene. His eyes are wide, and bloodshot. His skin is gray, matching his gray dress shirt. There is no blade in sight. I bend down, and gently touch the man’s hand. Ice-cold. He was killed before the girl. What is the strategy of this? Something tells me there is no strategy. A killer impossible to track, a killer impossible to predict and discover his plan, because he has none. He’s smart, but not in a way the police would ever guess. This is a different kind of intelligence, only one who know what it feels like can recognize it. My eyes sting, and I blink furiously. Now is not the time to cry. Would there ever be? This man was innocent, I know it. He didn’t deserve this death. Maybe the girl, but not the man. He didn’t do anything wrong, he was just living his life. Something white tucked between the man’s arm and the floor catches my eyes. Before I can think twice, my hands are curling around it, and pulling the paper use. Large, scratchy red writing fills the paper. BOUND BY BLOOD. My jaw tightens, and I crumple the paper in my fist. I stand up, throw the paper to the ground and let out a hideous scream. I knew when I stepped through that mirror that it would change things. I knew. I knew it would be hard to return, but I never expected this. I never expected the future to be so dark. . . and hopeless. Who in my future could be so cruel? I look at the man, and the blood. Too much blood. Why would anyone do such a thing? The floorboards creak, and my head whips around. No one. Chills dance up my spine, and it suddenly becomes clear to me that I have nothing to defend myself. My stomach twists, and my heart wrenches. That mirror was dangerous, why did I ever walk through it? Footsteps sound behind me, gradually gaining volume. A man appears in the doorway. His shirt is stained with silver and crimson, and a knife is tucked into his belt. His hairs are graying, and his beard is patchy. I gasp, and an oily smile creeps on his lips. I know this man. I know him better than anyone else—I stare at him in the mirror everyday.
