“Darcella!” I hear my name being yelled from across the field. The long wheat and grass strands tickling my bare legs, my not-so-white gown sticking to my skin.

I stare down at my body, my trembling hands in front of me. I think he did this to me. The man running up to me.

“Stay back! I mean it, you lunatic!” I exclaim as I try to retreat back into the forest. The strong, heady metallic scent of blood engulfed my nostrils, making me grimace until I held my breath—breathing through my mouth. It felt sticky, light, gross. I tried to wipe it on my dress, anywhere. But, everywhere was already covered.

“Me? I’m the lunatic? Look at you, Darcella! What have you turned into?” He says in horror, not approaching me. He stands five feet away from me, almost being shrouded in the fog as if being eaten up. I wanted him to be.

“Only because of the people _you_ killed!” I recall his dagger plunging into billions of hearts along the way as he chased me down here. I don’t even know him nor do I care to. The grass on my legs tickles me, making me let a small giggle out although this was no time for a laughing matter.

The humidity from the fog makes my hair stick to my forehead, my neck. Blood was covered in my hair, it was everywhere. I felt gross. I wanted a bath. But, I could not bring myself to tear away from his brown eyes. Ones filled with fear, nerves and apprehension. If anything, that should be me. But, I didn’t feel fear. Only… bewilderment.

“They were dying, anyway. Look at your blood, Darcella. Your veins. _You_ were torturing them—I was merely only putting an end to their agony.”

I look down to see my gushing blood, turning black. It puddles around me until it gets higher, and higher and higher. Until it feels like I’m drowning in my own blackened-blood. My veins are black too.

What did he mean I was the one torturing them?