Page 17

My resolve is firm, I only need to get rid of her body… As my eyes rove around the room, I have just the place.

After all, hadn't she wanted for me to die locked inside a cold coffin? Fitting that she'd be the one spending an eternity in that exact place.

My lips twitch as the irony sinks in. Maybe it's a twisted game of fate, but at least there's some type of justice in the world.

And I know I will sleep better at night knowing she's forever out of my life.

Getting to work, I prop the lid of the coffin open, the exertion already enough to make me sweat. After, I use my hands to drag her body into an upright position, finding it difficult to maneuver her because of her size. It takes me three tries to get her on level with the coffin, and I manage to hold her long enough to push her into the confined space, smearing blood from her head wound all over the floor and the outside of the coffin.

She drops inside with a thud, and I take a deep breath as I look upon her breathless body—those eyes that are still wide open.

It should be abnormal… staring into the face of death so directly and so casually. But I find that after my own brushes with death, I'm unnaturally immune to it.

Assured that Cressida's body fits in the enclosed space, I get to cleaning the floor. Since I don't have anything else to wipe the blood off with, I reluctantly settle on the torn pages of my book.

But it's just my luck that instead of cleaning the blood, they are only smearing it more. I roll my eyes, annoyed, until another idea pops into my head.

Moving back to the coffin, I reach inside and feel for any material. First, I check the previous occupant of the coffin, but since the material of the habit is so old and brittle, I fear I may make an even bigger mess. With a sigh, I turn to Cressida's body, tearing some cloth from her uniform.

Then, I crouch once more on the floor and start wiping. The material is a good absorbent, and soon the white marble floor is squeaky clean. I turn to the outside of the coffin, and I wipe the walls too, ensuring no trace of blood is leftanywhere.

When I'm finally done with that, I move to the other side to push the lid of the coffin shut.

"Drat it," I mutter as I fix my feet on the floor, the slippery marble not helping with my exertion. I move around a little so my heels are against the wall, my hands on the lid. Then, pushing with all my strength, I eventually see it moving.

When that is done, I lift my hand up, swiping some sweat off my brow and thinking how to proceed next.

I check the latch on the coffin, ensuring everything is locked in place.

This is it… I guess.

My stomach is still paining me as I go back to the dorm, choosing to stealthily head to the shower area and wash some of the blood spatters off my uniform.

Claudia is still in class, so there's only Lina inside the room, her brows pinched together as she focuses on sewing an old dress.

"Oh, Sisi." She looks up, surprised to see me. I give her a quick smile and dash out of the room before she can ask more questions.

The bathroom is made up of communal showers that everyone on the floor shares. Heading inside, I deposit my clean clothes on the sink and get in the shower.

Quickly tugging my uniform dress off my body, I place it directly under the water stream. Taking a piece of soap, I rub at the stained areas, relieved to see that the red turns into a yellowy color. The more I rub, the more that fades, too.

When my clothes are done, I move under the shower, hoping the warm water would help the continuing stomach pains.

Holding on to my midriff, I take a deep breath, willing myself to calm down. But as I continue to wash my body, my hand moving between my legs, I can't help but gasp out loud at the sight of blood.

So much blood.

And it's pouring out of me.

"Good Lord," I mutter, staring intently at the red coating my hand, convinced this is a sign. "I'm cursed… that must be it," I say out loud.

For the first time, panic starts taking hold of me. Because no matter how much I wash myself, blood keeps pouring out of me.

This is it… the physical evidence of my sin.

There can be no other explanation. I'm being punished for taking another life, and nothing is more fitting than blood slowly coming out of my own body—until I'm bled dry.

My legs buckle and I drop to the ground, my back against the wall, water still falling on top of me. As it washes over my body, it turns a muddy color, mingling with my blood in a fitting combination.