The coppery scent of blood, the heavy breathing of the dying, and the prickling of tears in the corners of her eyes were all she was capable of experiencing. She was numb to everything else, unsurprisingly. She wondered if she was putting on a good show, though. She wanted to know whether they were impressed by her behavior, her impeccable acting, even though her soul was being split into millions of minuscule pieces the more damage she inflicted.
She could feel a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips, but she couldn't figure out what would possess her to make such an expression, not when she was staring into the very depths of Hell. She readjusted her position, her knees having begun to ache from how long she'd been resting on them, before returning to her work.
The boy she was straddling had stopped moving some three minutes before, but she'd yet to stop carving. His chest had been cut to ribbons, the marks she'd made reflecting the doodles she'd occasionally draw on the corners of her books whenever she was bored in class. She laughed at how she'd somehow managed to pervert something so innocent, but her hands continued to move. She couldn't stop, not so long as they were watching.
She felt hands on her shoulders, attempting to pull her away from the nameless corpse, but she shrugged them off. She heard a laugh, a brief comment about how he had managed to snag a keeper, just before she felt his lips on the back of her neck. The brief kiss was enough to stop her hands, but not for the reason most would figure. She felt the irresistible urge to vomit, and she'd covered her mouth in an attempt to keep her lunch from making a reappearance. She didn't understand how someone could reinforce her behavior with something as sweet as a kiss, not when she was drenched in blood and dragging a dagger down the length of an innocent's chest.
She stared down at the boy she'd practically torn to pieces, but she didn't speak. She wanted to apologize, but doing so would secure her fate. She was only worth keeping if she enjoyed the kill, if she was fully prepared to paint herself with the blood of her victims.
She dropped her hands once the urge to retch subsided, resting them on the boy's abdomen for a second as a sort of silent apology, before she eased herself off of him and sat down on the ground. She took a deep breath, pretending to be tired but needing a moment to pull herself back together. "Who's next?"