The lady’s lips curled as she glared at the red splotches on the floor where my blood had fallen.
“You couldn’t have done that over the sink?” she questioned.
“If the ritual has begun,” I answered, “then messy floors can wait. Let’s get out of here.”
I took a step and slid on my own blood; a hand on the banister kept me from falling.
“How quick are the dead,” she smirked. “How do you plan on getting out of here?”
Only here did the finality of the situation find me; her words were as inescapable as the ritual itself.
