A/N: WARNING! CONTAINS MENTION OF SELF-HARM! This is a prologue. I thought it was supposed to be vauge. Please correct me if I'm wrong.


Arianna stared in horror at her hands. Her beautiful, bloodstained hands. The warm crimson liquid spilled down her arms, leaving intricate lines of murder behind. Still, she closed her eyes to all the signs showing her that it was her fault. She blocked her ears to all the sounds of his silence. She sealed her mouth to all the murmured words telling her that she was a murderer. She wasn't. But she was.

She looked at herself in fear. She feared herself and what she had become. She was a monster. A cold-hearted killer. He told her he loved her, over and over. Her rage, her insanity, drove him to death when he did nothing. He didn't love her. She killed him. He did love her. But that was never the reason as to why he died. No, he died because she thirsted for his blood. Any blood. When that happens, why not the lying lover? She was wrong, but she loved the adrenaline that pulsed through her veins as he screamed. It exhilarated her.

Arianna's eyes flickered over to the mutilated body of her lover. The red-tinted knife sat tauntingly next to him. I will make it better. It had promised her. It had lied. It tortured her, and it had tortured him. She couldn't bear to say his name. The pain it caused her sent shivers down her spine and made her writhe in agony. She was paralyzed with her misery. It defined her. It was her.

Who was she? Did she know? Did she ever? She was slipping through the cracks to enter a dark eternity of the night. That light that she missed so much shied away from her. She was dirty; tainted. Arianna was a heartless prisoner. So when her heart finally came back, it broke all over again.

Slowly, Arianna moved to grip the knife. She held it to her arm, pressing the cool metal into her flesh until it ripped. Her blood mingled with that of his. They were bound together by blood and by love. She traced the knife along her arm until the word Monster was clearly visible. A scar to remind her every day of what she was and what she did. A haunting memory told in one word upon her skin.

She balled her fists, flinging the knife away from her and hugging herself in an attempt to forget her actions. She made it worse. Finally, the weight of her actions fell on her shoulders, where she collapsed in a shuddering, crying heap on the grimy floor. The grief hung around her like a lead necklace, and her eyes shot open in realization. More and more hot tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Oh my God." She whispered. "What have I done?"

A/N: How could I write this? Even this scares me! I'll probably take it down later because it's freaky, but for now I'll just leave it. But seriously, guys, I know you probably won't, but don't commit murder. Honestly, I find it stupid. You'll get caught and you'll probably regret it later. This doesn't go into depth, because there's no way I could handle reading it, let alone writing it. This scared me! And also, don't hurt yourselves. I know it can be hard, and that the physical pain will take you away from the emotional pain, but don't. I just don't think that it's worth it. You can't always control it, especially if you suffer from depression, but try. Talk to someone. Your close friends are the best, whether you're sad or actually depressed. They're very understanding. This isn't really personal experience, it's just that I find talking to friends about worries is really helpful.