#amarisdeath

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The soft ping of your keycard at around 5 in the morning jostles you from your sleep, the soft light burning at your eyes. You can only think “no”, and hope this doesn’t mean someone else is dead, but your worst fears are unfortunately confirmed.

You look at the card with dread, its words hard to read in the bright light of the screen. It reads as follows:

"It’s a shame so few of you are left, but as you all grow closer this become so much more fun. As a reward, please come outside! I’ve prepared a great present of my gratitude, a dazzling show under the last light of the moon. Best of luck."

You bolt from your room, down the stairs, not stopping to look back at all. Someone else was dead. You’re too scared to see if anything inside was out of the ordinary. There were so few of you left that it could almost be no one but someone you’re close to. Dashing out alongside your remaining friends, you try to account for who you can and can’t see but it’s impossible to tell with all of the worrying. It’s cloudy, but you can tell that the sun is only just beginning to rise from behind the clouds. You look around and your eyes fall on the tree.

♪♪♪

From a distance, you wouldn’t be able to tell that what was there was a body. It looked normal, she was almost always there. Faintly swaying, she looked quite the same as usual. But she didn’t hop down to join your worry. And there was blood.

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♪♪♪

Amaris Langley. She just dangled there, her hands bound and holding her up in a loose knot. She lacked her usual gloves, and her bare hands were unveiled. Her right was a typical delicate hand, covered in freckles and sticky red blood. Her left, too, was stained, but it was pale porcelain and the fingers were bent and snapped at odd angles, some frayed wires poking from the prosthetic joints.You can hardly bear to look at her face, her once lively eyes now glazed over, forever staring toward the ground. The most sickening detail, however, was the silver bow tied around her neck, like she was a little giftwrapped present. You were almost thankful that it covered up what seemed to be the fatal wound, but tied in a cute bow like that just seemed to be making a mockery of her. Blood seeped from a wound on her shoulder; it looked deep and painful, and a similarly deep wound tore her tights just beneath the edge of her skirt, staining the thick, white fabric she wore on her legs with sickening, deep red. Her silver shoes were still on her feet, though trickles of blood had dripped down from her leg wound.

You wait a second. Maybe she’ll move, smile and laugh and tell you she got bored and was just playing a joke.

But she stays there, hanging, her eyes glued to the grass beneath her, swaying in the early morning breeze.