Let Grief Convert To

“No.”

That was the only word she could muster. The hollowness inside made her feel like the shell of a person, however, she spoke in a grave, strong, and ringing voice that did not sound like her own. It certainly was not a voice Romeo Montague had known until then. His plain brown eyes grew wide when they met hers; the transformation was not limited to her voice, she had an unknown glare on her face and her palpable rage felt as the scorching flames of Hell. Her lips curved into a devious grin. If Romeo, the devil himself, was afraid of her, that only meant Heaven blessed her to become an avenging angel.

She stood from the cool tile floor and composed herself in apparent calmness, straightening her dress without paying mind to the stains on her skirt.

Her grandmother’s blood was still fresh.

“Now, where were we?”