The elaborately decorated six-story cake glistened and shone, crimson blood dripping off the intricate gold-leaf piping, falling steadily down to the polished marble floor. The sun shone down, warm, pleasant even, impervious to the lifeless eyes and the hearts that didn't beat, the pale, bloodless skin. Everyone is dead. The bride, her once-white dress stained the same colour as the vibrant camellias that she still holds in a tight fist against her chest, lies on the ground. The groom is next to her, staring blindly up at the azure sky. All is silent, no birds sing, nor any do mice squeak, just the continuous patter of blood from the cake.

Without warning, a noise cuts through the deafening quiet. A sound of utter despair. A child’s cry. Despite the sadness of it, it is almost a relief to hear something different. But not for long, as now the child staggers into view. Dirt-covered face streaked with tears and blood, stumbling and sobbing, with sunken eyes like dark pits of sorrow, shirt ragged and torn. But those were nothing when compared to the worst of it all, for in her cut-covered hand she holds a knife.

She walks slowly, her face a blank sheet of pain. Suddenly she is hurtling towards the ground, arms flung out in shock, and now she lies on the floor, her foot still tangled in the curtain rope that had tripped her up. The bodies stir and sit up, obviously annoyed. The director runs up onto the stage. “Curse you, Jaxim” He mutters under his breath, then louder: “Redo that scene, but this time let’s try to not leave out ropes on the stage where people can easily trip over them” The girl laughs and walks off the stage, her makeup smudged and smeared.