The scene was… repulsive. A grotesque painting of pain and despair.
Beatrice lay on the cold floor, her eyes wide open, her face frozen in an expression of pure terror. Her body was still shaking in the final throes of death, while blood bubbled in her ruptured throat. She tried to breathe but only a wet, choking sound came out, like an animal drowning in its own flesh.
She choked until the end. She coughed up blood so thick that the dark red dyed her light purple hair, staining it with the color of agony. Life slowly dripped from her parted lips.
Beside her, Monica had no time to struggle. Her eyes, now glassy, were fixed on her daughter. She fell silent, as if her very soul refused to scream. One of her arms, severed and brutally torn off, still touched Beatrice's face in a desperate gesture of comfort. A caress frozen in time… stained with blood.
But there was much more.
