Crimson splattered the white sheets. A quiet plop echoed as the blood drip-dropped into the pale-brown floorboards. 

Kamillia Kiselyov stood detached, hands hovering by her sides, as she burned the image of Nikolai into her brain. He lay face down on the bed, head, or what remained of it, buried into the now-red pillow, chunks of meat clung to the damp blonde hair. She tightened her grip on the stone in her hand, and its jagged edges dug into the inside of her palm. 

Time crashed in when she thought of her blood mixing with his. Repulsed and filled with loath that climbed up her throat, Kamillia rushed to the bathroom.

A small green eyes crowned with black-blue bruises blinked at her, and she hissed at the pain. She traced her cheek with her hand, and her finger dipped at the hollow of her cheekbones. She had always had round soft cheeks— Old ladies pinched her face and gave her candy when she was little. As she grew, she loved to dab her face with pink blush to accentuate them, but some time after meeting Nikolai, his… self-centrism had eaten her, bit into her flesh and soul, and dug into her cheeks leaving her hollow.

Her hand traveled downwards, tracing her chin, the blood over her chest, and going towards her stomach, She gently rubbed it and said, “ It's okay zvezdochka, the monster's gone now.” 

She wanted to tell her little star that all is well now, all is safe, but slaying the dragon didn’t take the princess bag to her castle, there was still the long trek ahead, there was still all that blood on her hands.

She picked up a pair of scissors and began cutting her hair to get rid of the after-taste of Nikolai's existence. The first time they talked, when his hand slipped a note with his number into her palms, his other hand came up to twirl her red locks of hair between his fingers. She shivered at the memory. 

Curse that man. 

Snip-snap.

Locks of hair littered the bathroom floor, creating a scene with the small droplets of blood that fell off her blue night-gown. What remained of her hair barely reached the back of her neck, it framed her round face, and she felt lighter. 

Mama had always said that hair held memories. 

She walked out of the cabin Nikolai rented to spend a ‘romantic’ weekend in and sat on the muddy forest floor in front of it. She casually opened up her cracked cell phone and dialed up a number.

A voice like far-away thunder answered, “ Hello?”