She sat on her bed in horror, blood staining her pristine white gloves, the reality of the situation weighing heavily on her already slumped shoulders. Her whole body shook like a small leaf as her mind wandered back to just a few hours before, to the moment when Alastor had lunged at her, his eyes filled with malice. She had acted on pure instinct, grabbing the nearest object—a sharp letter opener—and plunging it into him, a few, no no scratch that, a hundred times to be exact.

Now, she couldn’t escape the vision of his lifeless body hitting the ground, crimson pooling around him. The weight of her actions pressed down on her, making it hard to breathe.