I dropped the heart beside her limp body, watching it twitch weakly against the cold floor. The metallic scent of blood thickened the air, seeping into my skin, my hair, my soul—but I didn’t flinch. I welcomed it. I fed on it.
She was the third.
And she wouldn't be the last.
I turned back to the mirror on the dresser, blood splattered across my cheeks and neck like war paint. My reflection stared back at me—calm, deadly, unrecognizable from the girl they once tossed aside like garbage.
Now, I was the executioner. And judgment had only just begun.
I grabbed a towel from the chair in the corner, wiping my hands. A clean exit mattered just as much as a clean kill. No witnesses. No fingerprints. No loose ends.
I unlocked the door and stepped into the hall, closing it silently behind me.
