“But…” the maid sputters.

You ignore her and head in the opposite direction.

Pushing through the door angrily, you tell Sophie, “We can’t trust anyone in this place, I don’t know what I was doing asking her for help. Look, we’re in a kitchen, let’s find knives, and then we’ll…”

You don’t get a chance to finish that sentence, as instead of you finding a knife, a knife finds you, square in the back. As you bleed to death on the Italian tile floor and watch some red-headed woman butcher your best friend, you wish you had trusted that meek little maid. Maybe you wouldn’t have met -

THE END