She.

It was late. The silence, overwhelming, almost suffocating.

She waits.

Then a scuffle of feet entered, the floorboard creaked in protest with each new weight.

She observes.

Like rats hoarding their new found cheese, the noise spreads and the scuffles become like the ratatata of a machine gun.

She listens.

A gong sounded. Once, twice, thrice. She prepares.

Her long flowing hair, red from the taint of sin.

Her tattered, raggled dress, its original colour covered with grime.

Her nails, sharpened. Ready.

She pounces.

A scream tore out, ripping of flesh, the crunch of shattered bone.

A pause, the last breath.

She sighs.

The silence returns, suffocating, overwhelming.

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