Closing my eyes, I title my head up, welcoming the sky with my face. More blood lands on my skin, tumbling on my forehead and going down through the curve of my countenance. It passes my nose before finally meeting my lips, and I part them to welcome the sensational taste. One drop, and that it all it takes.
I bring up my blood soaked fingers into my mouth and suck the fingernails, engulfing each drop that is still left on it. Trails of blood are building up on my nightgown, changing the colour from white to almost transparent. The blood gets on my surrounding as well, painting the garden red.
Despite that, this synthetic type of blood does not change the colour of nature, because it is not that real. The blood only fills the space with its crimson puddles. Unlike my gown, the white rose
