There was a quick pain that soon faded into nothingness, and then there was nothing but the feeling of relief and ecstasy that flowed through her veins.

She gave a cry of pleasure and wriggled beneath the blade she held in her hand. She looked down at the gaping wound in her arm. It was deep, but she didn't care.

Hopefully, no help would come. She wished she had locked the door, but it was too late now. She was beginning to weaken and could barely lift her arm.

An hour passed by slowly. She felt the blood flow from the wound on her upper arm muscle. Her head rolled about lazily, weak from blood loss. She knew that it wouldn't be long.

She heard voices coming down the hall. "No, go away," she cried weakly. She tried to lift her arm, as if to send them away, but she was too weak to even lift a single finger.

There was a joyous laugh and she realized that the people who had just entered the house didn't know that she was even there. "Good," she thought. She couldn't smile, but that didn't stop her from trying.

It was only a few moments longer before the light in her eye dulled slowly before fading out completely. Not long after this her mother walked in to tell her that dinner was about ready and to get cleaned up. She didn't take much notice to the red on the floor at first, figuring that the twins had spilled paint, but she screamed when she found Death before her; her daughter's blood spoiled the white carpet.