[center][i]I can't... I can't open my eyes just yet

what is this feeling?

I'm on something... soft... 

lacy...

or is that my name?

Who am I?[/i][/center]

The young girl rose from her bed. Her hands grasped wildly for support, but realized she was on a sterile, metal cot and the soft thing was actually someone's hair, and the hair was not actually attached to a body, as several decapitated heads lay strewn across the tile floor. The girl flinched. And yet, her surroundings looked familiar, as if she had already woken up to this before. Her hands shakily reached up to her cheeks, and felt dried tears. Her eyes felt sore; she must have cried recently. Her hands, retracting from her pale face, came into view.

And they were covered in blood.

Screeching, the young girl recoiled. The noise came out louder than intended, cracking and rippling as if it had not been used in years.

[i]I killed these people.[/i]

Automatically, robotically, the girl stood up. She saw a swordlike blood-red object leaning against the cot and picked it up, internally knowing it to be the murder weapon she used. There was no other explanation besides that she had gone completely insane.

[i]If I stay here any longer, I might kill more people too. I need to leave. I don't want to be a murderer. I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."[/i]

Fresh tears clung to her cheeks, tears that somehow turned solid and hit the floor as sharp spears of ice, shattering into a million pieces.