Blood stained the walls. It was everywhere in the kitchen and living room. Who would have ever thought a single person could lose so much blood? It was splattered in intricate designs on the whitewash walls, and splotched all over the wood flooring. Where was the weapon? That was all that the detectives could wonder.

They had already found the body. The boy was dragged into the master bedroom. There, the girl had laid him out on the bed, stark naked. His body had been slashed vicisouly and his head, arms and legs surgically removed at the joints. She had definitely taken a lot of time on him, hadn't she? His body was still all there, severed limbs only inches from where they should be. He was probably alive when she had done it.

The sheets were soaked crimson, and blood dripped around the bed into little pools. The most interesting part was the torso itself. His heart had been ripped out. He had deep knife wounds in his stomach. Everything seemed precise, but the heart. It seemed like she had made one deep cut and then decided to dig into his chest cavity. It was a grotesque sight to see it empty. Carved on the opposing side of his chest were the words 'committed a theft-- so I took what was left.' The phrase left the detectives dumbfounded. What the hell did that mean?

They hadn't really wondered why the boy's mouth was bulging and taped shut. Why should they? On his forehead she had stamped a large 'cheat' with the knife. His eyes had long since been gouged out, enclosed in one of his fists.

Where was the heart? One detective removed the tape to the boy's mouth. Curiousity got the best of him. His jaw immediately fell, and exposed not his tongue but his heart. She fed him his own heart. Did it make sense yet? They couldn't comprehend it, still.

They moved into the bathroom, Exzibit F. The mirror was distorted with lipstick smudges. 'Full of lies and deceit, Alcohol on his breath, He's a thief and cheat, Heartbreak led to death.' So she was a poet. The marble counter was covered in bloody handprints, bloodstained clothes littered the floor.

And the bathtub? The showercurtain had been drawn back, revealing the girl in a bloodbath. A bath of her own blood. Her wrists had been slit, and an 'x' dug into the spot above her heart. The shower wall was covered in her bloody graffiti, 'x marks the spot, pinpoint bull's eye, a perfect shot, die die.' She must have been disturbed, was all they could assume.

And again, where was the knife? They wouldn't find out 'til later. During the autopsy, they found it shoved up her vagina. Along the side of the knife it read 'used for what she could offer, no one would stop her, impure and foul, tried to cut it out. Undeniably yours, love one of your whores.'

And what she meant was still a mystery.