The Girl with the Rose Tattoo

Chapter 1

(??? POV)

I screwed up. I can't believe he would betray me like this. We had trusted each other, been by each other's sides for so long. Why? Why did he betray me?

I stood in front of my best friend, looking into his lifeless, glassy eyes. Crimson blood pooled around his stiff body. More blood ran down the blade of the knife I clutched in my hand, gathering at the point and slowly dripping on my leg. What have I done?

I could feel the blood pounding in my head, my chest as it all started to sink in. As I stared at his corpse, I reflected on the unexpected turn of events that lead to this moment.

**1 hour earlier**

The plan was going smoothly. We had infiltrated the government building and I had managed to make my way into the main office undetected, where I was currently sifting through piles of classified documents, hoping to come across my name. After what seemed like an eternity, I finally found it. It contained the full details of everyone in my family. My jaw dropped as my eyes skimmed over the precious information I had discovered. I had a sister. Before I had a chance to finish reading and find out who my parents were, I felt a freezing hand clamp down on my shoulder. I whipped around, only to find myself staring into the face of my best friend, backed up by several government officials.

This was it. This was how it ended. My plan was ruined, all because of my best friend. He looked over his shoulder and signalled for the men behind him to restrain me.

"I'm sorry..." Was all he said as they surrounded me. I could feel cold metal pressing against my bare neck, as a knife was held to my throat.

"Why?" Was all I could manage through my clenched teeth, afraid I would snap if I said any more.

"They promised me a great life. If I helped them, I'd never face discrimination again. I'd be safe and happy. It's all I've ever wanted." The response stung, only fuelling the roaring fire that was already burning inside of me. Each phrase was like gasoline to it, my fists began to clench and my jaw rooted. Burning rage hissed through my body like deathly poison, screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence. It was like a volcano erupting; fury sweeping off me like ferocious waves. The wrath consumed me, engulfing my moralities and destroying the boundaries of loyalty. I exploded with anger, with no control my daemon was unleashed. People dropped to the floor as the primeval instinct took over.

I grabbed the weapon being held to my neck and lunged forward, plunging the sharp blade into my best friend's stomach. He stared at me, stunned, as blood began dripping to the floor. His hands shakily reached up, desperately trying to grab at my jacket, to hold onto something, anything, as the blood flowed thickly from his body, the scarlet liquid drenching his white shirt. The light eventually left his eyes and the colour from his rosy cheeks vanished as if ice had struck him, leaving him staring at me, blaming me for the rest of eternity. His lifeless body slumped to the ground, as the remaining officials fled. He was dead. I had killed him.

Anger is a silent huntress looming in the night, ready to strike when you least expect it. She hovers over you like morning fog, clouding your judgement. She deceives you whenever she wills. You see a threat and she sees game. One moment it's there and the next it's gone, leaving a trail of regret. And, with someone else's blood on your hands.