The pale body of Jasmine Gale layed on the floor, bled dry. Her body was as pale as the marble tile of floor of her kitchen. The lights were dim, and the room was still warmed from the fireplace that hadn't burned out yet. Cookie, her golden retriever had barked at the intruder, and Jasmine had only shushed him, and left him in the backyard during the storm. And now she was dead. Her clothing layed strayed around the house, a trail from the bathroom to the living room of lingerie, complete with a robe. Sirens were wailing in the distance, Cookie barking in the back yard. A love note was set on the granite counter on a vanilla envelope in Calligraphy, left for whoever found her.