Yoongi is full. Almost. And no one knows how long. He was fed up with cruelty and darkness in his soul, victims were inevitable. His innocent-colored white shirt and the hands of a talented musician, are stained with the scarlet blood of someone's death

He liked the sound of someone else's body falling on the snow, like a winter symphony, and the smell of blood filled every fiber of his soul, making him hear the still unwritten melody, while his graceful fingers created new killer notes with each stroke. His innocence was gone to the sound of his own music, where beauty and horror were intertwined in an inexplicable union

Now his gaze is directed at you, who ran after him in horror, you fall to your knees and sob, seeing his next atrocity. He promised you he'd stop, he promised. For the sake of your love. Silence hangs in the air, broken only by the cold winter wind, which carries with it the spiritual blackness of Yoongi

Perhaps I am a creature of darkness, it depends on how you see the events Yoongi speaks quietly and peacefully, as if he has not committed a new terrible crime now I don't want to do this, but then I won't be able to play anymore. You know, my talent is always hungry

He is lying, as he always did, he never admits that deep down he enjoys his misdeeds every time