The blood dripped across the cobblestone path, dark crimson syrup flooding the ground. The kits, so small and innocent, lay lifeless. Their eyes were blank and staring, drained of joy and happiness.

She has watched them play earlier, mirth bubbling inside them, oblivious to the dark world around them. The world that surrounded them was ugly and dark, black and derelict. They did not care for the wrongness of the world, everything that made it violent, and full of evil. Everything that made it utterly beautiful. The world was full of disparity, death, and depression, and that was what made it a precious thing of beauty. These things stalked every corner, hung in every shadow. Yet most of the world ignored them, happy to hang back and live in delusion. Delirious in their perfect little worlds, oblivious to the truth. No one could bear to face the horrifying reality that trod ever closer, the reality that crime fighters tried desperately to hide. Still, most cats chose to ignore it. Ignore the reality hidden beneath their paws. But she was different.

She saw the world for what it was and relished it. She saw the darkness and depravity and danced in it. But the kits had seen none of that, ever so innocent. Vulnerable in their circle of purity. That was why she had been drawn to them, those kits so full of love in this world full of hate. It was wrong for them to be there. So she had killed them and laughed while doing it. As they saw her claws descend on them and rip our their throats, they had finally known the truth about the horror of the world. They had seen the reality as she had torn their lives away from their feeble bodies. She had not killed in a while and it had been a welcome gift. To feel someone die beneath your claws, to feel the exact moment when they go still and die was a wonderful thing. She had laughed, laughed with the purest joy as her claws had become red with blood, red with the blood of her victims. She had rested for a while, the world had been free of Bloody Rose for a while, but this would be her bold welcoming statement. She was back, and she was here to stay.

Bloody Rose paused, looking down at the rose. Pure white, the symbol of the lies that were innocence and purity. White, blank for drawing upon. She turned and dipped the rose in the blood of the kits. A few minutes ago she had relished their terror and pain, and now she lay in the remains, as her beautiful white rose became bloodied with corpses and the dead. Her namesake, the name the world had given her when she'd made her first kill, all those many years ago. Bloody Rose. The name all the city knew and feared. The white Rose had been ruined, painted in every shade of red. It was an absolutely gorgeous sight. The blood dripping down slowly, crimson and bright cherry red.

Red was her favourite colour. The colour of blood, the colour of death berries. The colour of the darkest flames. Flames that one day would engulf the world and burn through its' lies. One day she would set fire to the world, watch it bring death in the thousands, and she would laugh as the world burned. Red was the colour of death, such a beautiful, beautiful colour. These were the thoughts that tumbled through her mind as she scattered the bloodied petals; once white, now red. She gave a smile, grinning to herself. She looked out upon the scene of death, of murder, of chaos and catastrophe, and she felt euphoria soaring within. Her eyes twinkled as she left the scene, her calling card left behind. Soon, the anguished howls of their mother would grace this land, screams of grief and utter sadness.

Bloody Rose turned, jumping up to her favourite place. A small ledge overlooking the city, where she could see everything. The world was bare in all its glory--though it had little of that. She could see everything from here, the lies, the imperfections. The word rushed in below her feet, cats living out their pitiful, worthless lives. The cats that lived below her were leeching off the world, poisoning it. Cats were a plague upon the earth. She was doing the world a favour by killing. She was scourging those demonic cats and helping the world become a better place. She was removing cats from the fabric of lies and love that was society. The perfection of the world they lived in was all an illusion. Her murders were always a work of art, one that all of the city could respect--and fear.

But she smiled because, for a single moment, the gears that made the world tick stopped working. The perfect illusion cleared and the horrible underneath was visible. The carefully woven fabric of life felt a gentle tear. For on every wall, a picture was shown. On every electronic billboard, her masterfully crafted artwork was present. The traffic stopped, and everyone stared. Her calling card, her most recent rose, was displayed in its full glory. This work was bolder than some of her other pieces, and she was sure the city would be shocked that anyone could do this. The kits' dead eyes, the kits' slashed-open necks, her rose petals fallen on their broken, lifeless bodies. The voices of the news reporter blurring into the background, creating a beautiful melody with the anguished howls of grief and agony. She laughed — laughed at the chaos, laughed at what she had caused. In every voice, there was the news, and on every billboard, there was a blatant, undeniable truth. The exterior had worn away slightly, revealing the murder-filled interior she knew so well within. The world was lamenting in beautiful synchrony, but it was drowned by her murderous laughter. The killing had only just begun, and there was far more to come.

The Bloody Rose had struck again.

~ written by Olivia :) This story shall be fabulous. Wee Death 10/10 ~