Description
What have I done? Oh, God, what have I done? I can still see her blood on my hands. I can still remember the horror that shadowed her deep blue eyes and the pain that contorted her exquisite features. Do I deserve to still be living while she's dead? Is it truly not my fault for what happened to her? I can still remember everything following the events of that torturous night. Paparazzi everywhere asking all kinds of questions: How did it happen? Is it true that you were the one who killed her? What were you doing that night? Is it true that you're part of one of the most popular gangs of the city? I paid no attention to them, all I could focus on was my bloodstained hands; blood droplets fell to the hard pavement as I was guided through the crowd of reporters and angry fans that were weeping, but still shouting curses at me. Was this what it felt like to kill a celebrity? Was this what it felt like to kill Lily Adams? --> I know this isn't really like a description, but I haven't really worked with this in a while.
Rose Tainted Snow
