Fred opened the door to his and George's room. In there he found a sight he never would have expected to see. There was George, lying on his bed with a long, cruel knife sticking out of his chest.
Fred screamed. The knife, an evil instrument of torture, had emeralds glistening, opals shining, and rubies glinting evilly, looking like frozen drops of the blood that George was spilling.
"No!" Fred whispered to himself, trying to make himself believe that it wasn't true.
But it was.
And nothing would change that.
