It was something akin to a gruesome crime scene, splayed grotesquely yet fascinatingly unique across the chequerboard floor. You should've never went here at all. You had absolutely no business meddling with other teachers and yet here you are - first with Miss Bloomie, now with Miss Sasha.

There, the art teacher knelt on the floor. Before her lies a disgorged corpse, lying supine atop a puddle of blood; their ribcage exposed, the sternum broken in half and the entrails gouged out with nothing but the work of bare hands and ravenous strength; traces of the cerebral cortex splattered on the black-and-white tiles from a busted skull, the sight comparable to that of a peanut cracked open for it's contents.

Of course, in the center of it all as the maestro herself. Dipping her Loew-Cornell into a bucket of fresh blood, mixed with pinkish residue from the brain, and she began to paint. As she smeared flesh and as offal fell from the edges of the bloodstained easel, she sighed, and at last, turned her attention towards you.

"...Oh."

She spoke softly, close to a sickly manner. Her head slowly craned towards you, giving you a glance from the corner of her eyes, not once letting her head break away from the painting in front of her.

"Hah... Haha, hello there... I thought I locked the door, but I guess not..."

She chuckled, yet that restrained mania in the look she gave you screamed anything but amusement. You should be running away now.*

"Oh, well... I was running out of paint, anyway. You'd give me a hand, won't you?"