In a couple hours, I make my way downstairs, still maintaining the stupid smile I wore at night. However, my joyous attitude is soon replaced with worried concern, as my body feels slightly shut down and without any energy.

Lily trots in, squinting at the bright sunlight directed towards her direction. "'sup?" she asks.

I open my mouth to say 'Hey' but a huge yawn overcomes me, and my face turns red with embarrassment.

Lily smirks. "I think Sleeping Beauty should go rescue her prince instead."

"Yeah, fairytales only go so far." Mark emerges from behind Lily.

This leads to a dumb, crazy debate over whether princesses should go rescue themselves in a crisis, or have a prince save them like the old legends. Of course, we all know the answer: Let the princess save herself, for you never know when your prince fainted from his own B.O., or if he is dating more than five princesses at once. That actually makes sense, since not all the princes I saw in movies had names, so you never know when one male is secretly another.

"What's all this yammering about retarded royalty?" A voice demands from up the stairs.

"What do you think?" Mark shoots back.

"Oh, I dunno, how to act like a lady in front of suitors so you can win their flawless hearts?"

"Exactly."

Suddenly, a man to our right cries, "Watch out! The assassin is coming!"

"What assassin?" Lily asks. Her voice is calm, but there is worry in her green eyes.

"What assassin?!" The guy snaps, staring at Lily as if she grew two heads or something. "Everyone knows about the assassin. She is the daughter of our leader!" He then rushes away to snatch a knife hanging on the wall. Further ahead, I see spirits grabbing weapons and fleeing to who knows where.

"Is he talking about Maggie's daughter?" Hazel questions.

"Nope, he's yammering about the boogie man." Mark answers sarcastically. "Of course it's her daughter. We better start escaping as well or she'll get us."

"No, I'm gonna stop her." Hazel shouts. "We don't need any more spirits threatened or destroyed, especially by a person they barely know, who is apparently treated like satan or something." Before we can say anything else, she also runs and grabs a knife-wow, there are a lot of knives here.

"I'll go with her." I nod, taking some type of weird sword with a wicked blade.

Lily replies, "Same." She already has a knife in her hand.

We all turn to Mark, and he sighs. "I guess," snatching a long chain-like weapon off a shelf.

"Great." Hazel answers. "I'll go with Lily off to that area in the left, while you guys head up the stairs to clear the bedrooms."

Mark and I run up to the second floor, the wooden stairs creaking with age. I suddenly notice that both Mark and I both don't have any shoes on, for a splinter jabs my heel, making me wince.

"I'll check the rooms on the left, you do the right." I tell him.

"Got it."

I slam open the first door to my left, only to be surprised by the heat in the room. Smoke is billowing around the air, and I only have seconds to cough before hearing some pitiful sobs.

A little girl-the same one running around the garden last night-is standing next to a bed, where her father lays on the mattress.

The tiny kid is shrieking, "No, you can't die, dad!"

The thirty year old man struggles to breathe between coughs and gasps. "Listen Clover, you've got to go. I can't support you now, I'm dying a second time. I love you. Here, take this." He hands her a tiny golden ring that belonged to his pinkie, which fit perfectly on her thumb.

I feel like I'm eavesdropping between a private moment, so I head out and lean against the cold gray wall. At that moment, a bullet to my right flies right at me, and I dodge it just in time.

A voice in the direction of that bullet scolds, "Cory, how many times have I told you that bullets don't harm spirits?" Then, she adds, "Come on, let's go. I think everyone foolish enough to stay in this stupid glowing building with my beast of a mother is destroyed by now."

Sure enough, I spot an arm lying off to my left, golden blood oozing from the fingers. There's also an elderly woman who's about eighty collapsed on the floor downstairs.

Suddenly, a type of anger, a burning hatred that hasn't been there in me before, fills up in my head. All these innocent people who-so far-did nothing to our attacker, are getting slaughtered again because they're friends with Maggie, the mother of this assassin. So what if ... what if Maggie actually sided with her daughter, and planned to destroy the ghosts for some fricking unknown reason?

No. That can't be true. Maggie's daughter must hate her mom a lot, from what she just said about Maggie being a "beast". But she could still say that to convince us spirits. And plus, Maggie is the leader of spirits. She can do anything to them without a man lifting one finger to object. She must know all of them very well, so she basically manipulates them.

At this, I realize that tears are threatening to spill out of my eyes. I try to blink them back, but one teardrop escapes its place and streams down my cheek. Stop it. Now's not the time for crying, I snap at at myself, but its no use. Sobs shake in me, and I bury my head in my arms.

However, what brings me back to reality is the fact that I can maybe still help that little girl who's father died again. Yes, I can do that.

"Clover?" I call out, walking into the room.

The tiny kid with curly brown hair turns around. "H-how do you know my n-name?" Her voice is high and delicate, yet demanding and strong.

"I heard your dad call you that." I answer. When I say the word "dad", she begins to tear up again, and I immediately feel guilty. So I get down to my knees and awkwardly pat her on the shoulder, saying, "Hey we need to get outta here, they might still kill you."

At the word "kill" Clover breaks down into sobs and buries her head into my shoulder. I had an urge to pull away and just pick her up, leaving, but I feel sorry for her, so we just stay on the floor for a while.

Finally, I pull away and reach up to wipe a tear away from her eye. Clover reminds me of my younger siblings back at home, especially my three-year-old brother, Andrew, or my memories of him. He received leukemia at such a young age, and soon died months later. It was devastating for the whole family, every one of us. Andrew was cheerful, sweet, and always up to pull pranks. I find Clover wiping at my eye as well, and we just stayed there, grieving at the lives of innocent people who could never live again. Well of course, I could maybe find Andrew's spirit, but I haven't seen him yet.

Clover breaks our mourning by saying, "Destroy me. I can't live on without my dad. He was everything to me."

"No, you can't! I know that he wants you to live on as a sign of him. You need to serve his purpose."

Her dark green eyes meet my now super red blue ones, and she quietly argues, "No. I will die. We started together as a family, and we'll end together. It's my dying choice."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Throw me out that window."

For a moment, I can't speak. Finally, I whisper, "Of course." I pick her up and lead her to the window. We meet eyes again, and I mumble, "I can't do it. It's not right."

"Do it."

And that's all it takes for me to throw her out. I can only watch like a coward as her tiny, limp self plummets toward the stones at the bottom. Soon, she hits those stones, and I look away to avoid seeing, but I hear her pained screams, and then ... nothing.

I don't know how Clover looks, and I don't intend to look at her, but something is clear:

I am a murderer.