I walked backwards, horrified at what I did. I did not mean to kill her. It was an accident. Hitting the wall with my back I slithered down. I glanced at my hands, horrified at the amount of the red colour on them. I did not mean to stab her, I just... I just... It was not my fault. My hands, they did it themselves, I could not stop them. They just... they...
I crawled over to her dead body. Her blood had already stained her white dress and was starting to drip onto the floor. That spark in her eyes which I fell in love with was gone.
The grandfather clock struck 3 o'clock. The first birds of the day have starting shrieking. It has been well over 4hours that I have been sitting here in the dark. The candles have burnt out, and her body is ice cold. But still I did not believe I killed her. But I did not. She spun around so quickly and rammed herself into the dagger in my hand. Slowly I pulled out the dagger from her heart. The blade still shimmered under the caked blood. The dagger stole the shimmer from here eyes. For the first time since her last breath I sobbed. I fell onto her breast, clenching her frozen hand.
I woke up with dried blood on my face, my eyelids hurt when I tried to pry them open from the prison pf the dried blood.
I had to dispose of her body, somewhere far from me, somewhere so that they don't suspect me. I glanced a look on her pale body, her blood stood out in the darkness.
I dragged her to the bathroom. With the same car as a child would have to her doll, I undressed her and dropped her into the cold water. Into a basin I filled it with the same cold water and chucked her sullied dress. With tender care I washed the blood of her body. The bath water turned a hue of red. When I was sure that there was not one single spot of blood on her body I pulled her put and delicately laid her on a bed of towels in the middle of the living room. I then went back to the bathroom and meticulously washed her dress. Scrubbing the stains out until my fingers were starting to take the red colour. When finished I hanged out the dress to dry over the chairs in the dinning hall.
I stared at her young body, the hole in the chest matched the one I felt in mine.
The sunlight pricked my eyes as it crawled into the house through the windows. The dress had dried quick with the heat I did not feel from the fire place. I felt she was a doll once more as I dressed in her dress with a hole.
Where could I hide her? I took her hair to my nose, it still smelt like her. Her beautiful blonde hair was the only thing that shimmered in the daybreak. I eyed the dagger on the floor, and then the collection of furniture which was going to be picked up the next morning. I took the dagger to my hand, and started opening the various hidden draws in the furniture.
With the skill of a man who's father was a skilled butcher, I cut of her limbs, one my one. Her right leg landed in the enormous writing desk, her arm somewhere else. And so her body parts started to fill up the hollows in the furniture until only her head was left. Her lips had parted into a silent scream. I plaited her hair and cut it off, putting it into a armoire that paralleled her beauty. I took her head to the cellar and hid it in a hollow in the walls. No one knew of this hollow apart from me, and now her.
I made sure all the hidden parts of the furniture. Then slowly, I traced with the dagger the same place where her life ended. My hand, just like it killed her, killed me.
YOU ARE READING
