It was a loney, gloomy night. It had been 4 months since your Husband, Husk, was drafted into war. And your daughter, who had been diagnosed with a fatal illness 7 months ago, and had just passed.

You were in a rough patch, and didn't have anyone to comfort you. Your husband couldn't come home too you. You were all alone in this world.
Husk's letters had also become less frequent. He was probably in battle a lot more now, hence not a lot of letters.

You sighed and popped open a bottle of whisky, hoping to drown away your sorrows. You took a long swig of whisky, watching the window.

There was a sudden knock on the door. It surprised you more than it should've, because you were tipsy. You relcuntantly got up and stumbled over to the door, lazily opening it.

"Hello-?" You yawned, only to be more surprised when you saw two soilders in uniform. "What's going on-? Is my husband okay?" You asked them.

One of the soilders shook his head and they other spoke up. "Are you Mrs. (L/N - Last Name)?" He asked

"Uhm, yes? Why?" You raised an eyebrow.

"We are sorry to inform you that you're husband did not make it." The taller one spoke, his voice cut deep with sorrow.

You felt your heart sink into your stomach as you stood at the door, watching the soilders go. Your only hope, gone. Your husband was gone. And you would never see him again.

Thus, it began. Your killing spree that would hopefully cut away your sadness. But it didn't. Too avoid being caught by the police, you ended yourself one night, waking up in hell.

(A/N: Damn I made it sad)