It was late at night, the moon shining cheerfully through her windows as she watches whatever crappy show that’s on TV, when Guzma knocked on the door.

It’s not weird for her boyfriend to be home late, what’s weird is that he is covered in blood. He wasn’t just covered in it, he reeked of it, the smell clung to him.

Guzma stands before her, his casual demeanor now replaced by a cocky expression. The atmosphere in the room was thick as she stared at him, the dark stains on his clothes and skin a stark contrast to his tanned face.

She felt a shiver claw its way down her spine as she stared at him, her mind racing with questions and anxiety.

The moon’s light seemed almost eerie now, casting long shadows on Guzma’s face, making the blood on his skin shimmer with an otherworldly gleam.

Seemingly noticing her stare he pipes up. His voice cut through the silence, his attempt to reassure her, but only making her feel worse. Her stomach turned.

“Oh don’t worry, darling, it’s not mine.” Not all of it, anyway. His calm tone did little to soothe the unease that had settled its way in her chest. She held the door open, looking almost numb with shock.

He kisses the top of her head, narrowly avoiding smearing blood over her smooth and clean skin. He knows what she’s thinking. It’s late, he’s covered in blood, it’s dark. “He’s not dead, I promise.”