It had only been a few days after Tempe had spoke casually with her agent about ‘the perfect method.’ Being a forensic anthropologist, many people often asked her— what would she do if she killed someone, to never get caught? Or was a lighthearted conversation, sure, she’d thrown a look or two in there to add pizazz, but it was not a serious topic.

But then, suddenly, her world felt far darker. As she sat in her office, quite literally red handed, she was mortified. Her vision felt darker. All she could see was red and black around her— everything that wasn’t the victim’s blood was just void.

She gripped her hair, bobbing her leg as she barely even moved her eyes. She stood, still giving a blank, thousand yard stare as she washed her hands, her breath heavy.

She still felt dirty. Would she ever feel clean again?*

She rushed to the communal showers, darting into it and still feeling horrid as the water washed over her. She shuddered a bit, feeling the utter sting of damp behind her eyes. She couldn’t— she’d done something horrible—

But they’d never catch her..