Death of ill deeds & the dawn of a murderer

In the midst of dawn, there stood a girl named Emily. Her hair were golden blond and her lips were red. She gazed over the meadow. Waiting, worrying, as her white long dress trembled nervously in the light breeze of air that swirled around it. Tears fell down her cheeks as she reminisced of her brother. He would not have liked what she had become, she thought. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and she saw the blade. She could feel the blood drip from the tips of her fingers as she unclenched her pale hand, further staining the dress with the blood of her victims. She felt overwhelmed by shame as the satisfaction of the deed slowly demised, and she realized that life would not have anything to offer her any longer. The wailing sound of sirens found their way through the narrow forest and over the meadow. She looked intensely at the blade. She had sworn that this night which were now residing for the light would be the night where evil would not go unpunished any longer, and yet this night would bring the dawn of a girl which were no longer to be considered good. She picked up the blade and held it to her chest as she fell to her knees. Where would she go? What should she do? Her life were over and she knew it. Those left in her family would not understand why she had done what she did, and she would be known to everyone she knew as a murderer, a mad girl driven to gruesome acts of violence by the grief she kept for her brother. She shook her head violently as she tried to scream but could not muster more than a whimper. Her quivering lip tasted salt as she looked up at the red, blurred sky.

- What is waiting for me beyond? What secrets does life reveal to me when I leave it? Will I once more meet those whose blood are now responsible for my guilty conscience? Nothing? Will I not be punished? But then why would I have been driven to murder, what was the purpose? And what would be the purpose of sending those who have hurt me to a black void, only to then follow them myself? No. Life can not be this blunt. There must be substance of meaning beyond this. Had I ever been good? Or had people only told me that I am? Are there any good left in the world, or are we left with the foul remaining of what once were, only described with beautiful words. -

Her head spun as these thoughts ran through her mind and she had to gasp for air.
Their deaths had to carry meaning, other than blind grief for the loss of soulless monsters. If no one alive would appreciate their deaths other than her, then at least she would stay alive to do so. She ran.

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