She shuddered as the blood ran circles around the drain. The tap was getting hotter, and steam started rising from the sink. A small gasp escaped her as she pulled her hands away. They were flush with the heat, and still red with his blood. Tears running down her cheeks, she put her hands back under the wet fire on some vague principle that she needed the heat to burn the evidence away, and an even dimmer notion, residing somewhere in ever darkening corners of her mind, that the pain would somehow be a recompense for what she had done.
Her Perspective
Tale Told 