eight | do not go gentle

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While lying on the rooftop of a building where she had recently killed a decently sized family, Annabelle could do nothing but blankly stare at the dark and cloudy sky as the images of the horrified looks that the family had on their faces as she forced them to watch her tear each and every single member of their own family into pieces appeared in her head once more.

Even though it had been about two hours since she had killed them, she could still hear the sounds of their pleas and screams as she tore into their necks and dismembered them, while the other members of the family's screaming grew louder.

It wasn't only the screams of the family that she could still hear.

It was the screams of any passersby, who heard the family's screams and went over to their home in order to investigate the screaming, only for their screams to be the next ones that any passersby could hear.

Annabelle, quite frankly, didn't care if any other people came to investigate the source of the screaming.

The only thing that she cared about was indulging herself with the blood of whoever she pleased, while also managing to cease the screams of her own personal demons telling her what she should and shouldn't do with the neighbors or anyone who walked by the house as the screams of the family and those belonging to the passersby grew louder and louder with each passing second.

It was then that she closed her eyes and slightly jumped when the first face that she saw was her own face from when she was still a child.

Well, two separate faces of her own.

One face was from the happy memories that she shared with her siblings and the ones that she had before her parents had started to hurt her, while the other face was dark and the light that she had once had in her eyes that many had adored about her was starting to dim away to nothing.

After she opened her eyes, she raised her right hand and stared at her own reflection in the knife that she used to kill some of the people who came into the home of the dead family.

As she stared at her own reflection, she couldn't help but wonder what it was that had caused her to lose the light that she used to pride herself in having.

Whether it was the abuse that she suffered from her parents or being the one who killed her own husband and children, she wasn't sure.

The only thing that she was sure of was that the girl that she was before she turned six years old would be disappointed in her and the person that she'd become.

After sighing to herself, she shoved the knife into her coat and jumped down from the roof before she sped away from the home that had blood coating the inside of its walls.


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Winter, 991

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