She's dead.

I can't belive it.

She's dead.

It never should had happened this way. One minute she was smiling at me.
The next she was lying on the ground. Blood was leaking out of the corner
of her mouth. A dagger was in her back. We never found out who did it.
She looked at me and wispered my name. I bent down and wrapped my arms
around her. I told her I loved her. She said I love you. I don't think
it was for me. It was for him, always for him.

She's dead.

She was perfect in every way. The only one of the whole bloody lot who
understood what I was. Who I was.

She's dead.

He never deserved her. Never. She was better than him. So beautiful.
She was beautiful. She would have made a magnificant vampire. I can
picture her now, drenched in blood, dancing in the moonlight. A goddess
in red. But she'll never have a chance.

She's dead.

I'm at the funeral. She wanted it to be held at night, a tribute to the
life she lead. The priest is reciteing some damm hymm. I need to get out
of here. This isn't what she was, this is just some shallow reflection.
Nothing like her at all.

She's dead.

Anya's dead.