The blood cascades down her face.
She is but a statue now with holes for eyes.
I can still hear her laughter. It is ringing in my perfect ears.
The blood still drips.
Her mouth is agape with horror.
I will never see her smile again, though her face is still warm.
The blood is pooling at my feet.
She is ugly this way. But I can only see her beauty.
Pale and red.
Are these the colors of love?
The blood has reached my ankles.
I think I will drown in it.