She sat.

She cried.

But she could not even hear her own heartbeat, let alone her wails.

But she felt her lips move.

What have I DONE!?

I am…

She didn't believe she did it. Not really. But all the signs were there.

He who has the stains of the victims blood on his hands dealt the murder. She knew that.

But was it really blood? Was it his blood? Who's blood was it? She didn't know… but

she saw her lover on the ground, silent.

Silence.

Anytime she heard silence, when she was with him, it was a happy silence. A moment of

bliss, of warmth.

But now it was of agony. A screaming silence. She heard his wails, echoing in the dark

caverns of which were her ears. Too many things had echoed in those caverns. It will get

better! I promise! I'LL DO ANYTHING!

Arianna rose off the ground, slowly, in a trance. The bedroom was red. Her naked flesh

was caked with his drying blood. Yes, she finally realized, it was his.

Her heart was lead, frozen. She had stopped crying. The guilt now consumed her too

much to cry. The ruby liquid everywhere was still warm. Still alive. It was as if his soul

was still there, in his blood, holding on. Still screaming.

She saw it. The blade, smiling back at her from her lover's side. The eerie glow of the

once polished silver glinted at her. Beckoning. What did it want her to do?

She could walk, she realized. But barely. It seemed at though he wasn't the only one who

had bruises. Her legs trembled, but she made it to his side.

She took a moment to assess him. There were open, flowing wounds. Everywhere. She

remembered- she loved to see how much blood would pour out. She was like a child,

with a favorite toy that made sounds, and she couldn't get enough of pushing the button

on it and hearing it speak to her. She found glee in a reaction. No matter who's it was.

His face. It made her stop. There was none. Perhaps, in her trance, she hated the way the

face she loved looked as she cut him open, time and time again. She had gotten rid of it.

She hated herself.

She did not hate herself for what she had done. No. He had deserved every mark upon

him.

She just hated the way she felt. The cold, calculated way she assessed the damage she had

done. What was the matter with her? Had, in the struggle, her heart been cut out? She had

fallen in love with him. She had loved him for so long. It had been there once, right?

Maybe not. Maybe it was just the illusion of a drumming in her chest.

What was she?

I am…

She picked up the knife. The irony of it all. It had been his prized hunting knife he kept in

his bedside table drawer, to keep him from harm. And to protect her. In spite of herself,

Arianna laughed. It was a strange sound, not one of hilarity or happiness. It was again

that strange emotion that she had just discovered, the one that allowed her to take the

lives of her loved ones.

Now though, the worth of his prize was decimated. No. I was no longer there, just like his

face.

She picked it up.

She felt the tip, the edge. She would need to sharpen it again, it had become quite dull

after the night's affair. Still, it would do for one last task.

Arianna pressed the blade against her skin. The blade danced against her arm, lunging,

twirling. It reminded her of their wedding dance. They had waltzed, surrounded in love.

The warm, sunny feeling. She realized that love and blood had something in common.

When you had it, without it you couldn't survive. Most people couldn't, at least. Maybe

she could.

Arianna looked at all her handiwork, one last time. Admiring it. Because the guilt was

gone now. It had been replaced with satisfaction.

She glanced at what she had been doing with the knife. On her arm. It was quite skillfully

done really, and she could not even recall herself crying out with pain. She hadn't.

Another evidence of a missing soul, a vanished heart.

Arianna read her new name aloud, the one etched into her skin.

"I am a Monster."