The time had come.

Paisley Rose dipped the blade into the contents of the flagon, her eyes glittering like venom. Tonight was her night. Tonight she was going to take revenge on that foul man who had disrupted the very flow of her life. Tonight she was going to murder Jonathan Andras.

The bane in the flagon hissed as it made contact with the surface iron of the blade, bringing a satisfied smile on her lips. She was sure that the blade would alone be enough for sending Jonathan Andras to meet his creator but the bane? It would ensure that he surely dies. There will be no chance for survival.

Paisley wiped away the tears that had formed in her eyes, subsequently removing the blade from the flagon. She was going to do something tonight that she had never dreamt of doing. Would her life be the same? No, it was not possible. But will she be able to avenge her sister and her friend? Yes, and it was all that mattered to her at that moment.

Thus flinging on the hood hanging behind from the door of her bedroom, Paisley walked towards the stairs with the blade clenched tightly in her fist. Darkness trailed behind her, darkness loomed ahead. There was no light, no light that she could see.

Her eyes drifted to the two crooks, as she descended the last stair, who still lay there tied and unconscious. She walked towards them with the blade raised and like an experienced butcher she slit their throats. Unable to resist the attack in any way they slowly bled to their death with Paisley on the watch. This was what she wanted: to end them all with this blade, this blade which was an emblem of her rage.

Her fingers were covered in their blood and so was her hood. She watched their blood dripping down to the floor, dripping as would water making a soft sound as they fell. The icy winds rapped against the windows, their chill evident in the unmoving eyes of Paisley where there was no regret, no fear but only apathy. The winter had chilled her heart.

Letting out a laugh with tears running down her cheeks at the same time, she opened the door to her house and walked into the night, lost in lust for vengeance.

***

The Andras chateâu was quiet that night, unnaturally quiet. Not a tree moved its leaf or rustled its branches nor did the pond make any waves that night. A stillness hung over the air and a mist encompassed it from all sides, hinting at the occurence of something that shall change the town forever.

And in his bedroom, Jonathan Andras was fast asleep. He was so deep in sleep that he never noticed when the window in his room was flung open. Nor did he notice how like a lizard did Paisley climb into the room, her dress and hood torn and tattered. The blood upon her fingers and the blade had dried into a deep crimson, which glinted uncannily in the little light of the waning moon.

She clenched and unclenched her jaw. Jonathan was asleep which would ease her work. But she did not want him to be asleep. She wanted him to be wide awake and experience the pain, the pain he had given to the dead girls and her. She wanted him to experience it all. Nonetheless, she walked over to him, limping slightly due to the efforts she had taken to climb up the chateâu walls.

As Paisley raised the blade, about to deliver the first blow, Jonathan opened his eyes. Perhaps his subconscious had understood that his life was coming to an end thereby waking him from his sleep.

"Paisley? What---NO!" Jonathan let out an animalistic growl as Paisley stabbed him in the abdomen. He struggled to raise himself up from the bed, to push away Paisley, who without giving him a chance to recover struck again, this a little further up from the first blow.

"This for Felicity, you bastard! And for what you did to your own sister! You do not deserve to live!" She yelled in fury and pain, striking Jonathan again and again like a woman maddened by her woes. She took no notice of how Jonathan's body had gone limp and how his eyes looked glazed but kept stabbing. His blood bathed her from head to toe, drenching her wet and satiating her thirsty heart. She emitted yells and cried, but never stopped to stab the already dead man.

The door to Jonathan's bedroom opened with a loud bang, marking the entrance of Johansson. Roused from sleep by his brother's cries he was carrying an ornamental sword, the first thing he had found to be used as a weapon. For a moment he appeared dazed in the darkness but then his eyes fell upon Paisley and what she was to his brother.

"Stop it, Paisley! What are you doing?" He ran towards her, in an attempt to push her away.

"Leave me, Johansson! He deserves to die!" She yelled into his ears, struggling to move from his grip. They kept pushing each other, thrashing the other to let go. Both got cornered against a wall as their fight progressed.

"Let go of me!" Closing her eyes, Paisley kicked Johansson. At the next moment, she heard a squelch of pain and a gnawing under her chest. A gasp escaped her lips as she opened her eyes to inspect what had happened.

Johansson had fallen to the floor, pooling in his blood. During the fight the sword that he had carried struck him in the chest, perforating his heart and killing him instantly. As for Paisley...the blade she had used to murder the crooks and Jonathan was stuck underneath her chest. The gnawing pain that she felt was the poison spreading in her bloodstream.

She pulled it out, the pain spreading like sharp jolts of lightning throughout her body. She stumbled in her position, her knees buckled. This was what she had not expected. If she died no one will know what had truly happened upon the night Wilhelmina Andras had disappeared, the night Felicity died. There might have been away for her to survive the blow had it not been for the bane in which it had been dipped. It would most definitely kill her.

Mustering all her willpower she grabbed an empty glass bottle from the table in Jonathan's bedroom. Cradling it close to her chest she walked out of the room, in search of something that would secure the truth.

***

Paisley stopped by the desk in Johansson's bedroom, laden with many letters. Recognising one of them containing her handwriting she stuffed it into the glass bottle, without caring about its contents.

It was the only way left. The coming morning the townsfolk would find them all dead and the truth would be forever lost. She pitied the young Winona who had lost all her family, all because of her. But was there any other way? Jonathan Andras despite everything was a powerful figure in the town and no one not even the police would believe her if she claimed that he was the mastermind behind two murders. Perhaps the crooks would have been caught but not him, never him.

Her breathing grew weaker. Clutching the bottle tightly, she muttered rapidly under her breath. One day someone will come who will want to know the truth for the sake of the truth.

That day this bottle containing her essence will emerge realising the arrival and help them on their journey.  She might not be alive but she will live on through this bottle. And  from deep within her heart, she wished them success in their endeavour. Now she could die in peace.

The bottle fell from her hand, rolling away from the room. With the last of her energy dissipated, she fell on the floor. There was no pain now, it was only the chill and the numbness that slowly took over her body. A small smile emerged on her lips at the thought of how she was going to join her sister after having avenged her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she believed she saw an obscure form of a girl in a crimson shawl, before the darkness claimed her and took her to the realm of nothingness.