The Sin of Beauty

The city now loved to mix lies through their theories with the dripping blood between the shards of mirrors, after two years it had become disturbingly usual and worryingly chat topic over teas.

The killer still around was listening to their cheap conclusions.

Was it too hard to see it? Ruined faces. Breaking their reflections.
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Celesta ran, but the fear ran faster. It wasn't just pressing against her ribs-it was inside them, crawling, unraveling, twisting through her breath until it was no longer her own. It was bigger than movement, bigger than exhaustion. It was the knowing-knowing that if she faltered, if she failed, something irreversible would happen.
She was running because it was the only thing left to do. One thought pulsed through her mind-louder than the terror, louder than the burning in her lungs.
She couldn't be caught. She couldn't die. She has not come far after five months for this ending.
And yet, in the depths of her mind, as she raced down the unfinished corridor-she wasn't sure which she feared more. Because if they reached her first- It wouldn't matter.