Sorry about the lateness of the update. I ruined my iPod with nail polish remover (acetone is plastic's WORST enemy) which I do all of my writing and editing on. And then I had to find all of the old files from my stories and put them back in. I also lost all of my previous work on the chapter.

So yeah, gomen.

I fixed the summary if you hadn't noticed, because... It sucked. I was in a rush, and I got into whatever-comes-to-mind-is-put-down-oh-look-that-has-a-remote-similarity-to-the-story mode. Hopefully(?) it's better.

Kyoko vigorously rubbed her temple in an attempt to reach the dull headache that was beginning to fester inside her brain.

Her role was proving to be rather difficult. The cold, unfeeling hatred in her character's eyes was not an easy thing to portray, since it made it necessary to muster quite a bit of anger and sadness.

Sometimes she would end up in a perpetual bad mood for the rest of the day, the killing aura around her sending people running from her.

The director also wanted to see the full capabilities of Mogami Kyoko. All he had given her was a general outline of the plot, and she was on her own from there.

It was quite a handful.

Despite everything, she enjoyed the role. Any advancement she could make in her skills as an actress she considered good, and if this wasn't advancement in acting, she didn't know what else was.

The first episode of the series had just aired on television. The public had gone crazy after watching it, fascinated with the powerful killer so different from her last role in which she played a graceful princess. That latter had earned her quite a bit of attention. Everyone now claimed she was a diamond that only needed a little polishing for her beauty to show.

And so, when her new show came out, it was quite popular.

A masculine voice took her from her thoughts.

"Mogami-san? There was a note left for you, in the dressing room."

Thoroughly confused, and too busy to notice that cap over the man's face, effectively concealing it, she wondered out loud. "A note? From who?"

"I don't know."

Her footsteps were loud in the black, hard heeled boots she had to wear for her character. The dangerously sexy look was also the reason why she was wearing a skin-tight, revealing corset under a leather jacket. Her face became bright red as she thought of how her clothes looked.

Definitely not her normal wear.

She was snapped from her embarrassment as she reached the door to her dressing room.

She felt something was not right.

Ah, well, probably just her being weird.

She unlocked the door, and found that she could not open it. Five minutes were spent throwing her weight against the door.

Finally, it had moved enough for her to squeeze through. Rubbing a now-bruised shoulder and flush on face renewed, she winced as the lock scraped her back.

All the color drained from her face at the sight that greeted her upon entering the room.

A cold droplet of sweat fell down her cheek, then beaded on her chin.

A freezing breeze from the broken window that let in the biting wintry air from the snow-capped outdoors.

A chair was in front of the door, effectively blocking it. Her makeup she had earlier fantasied about was on the floor, foundation staining the blue carpet with a nude color.

Her room had been torn apart.

On the dressing table, shards of a broken mirror shone with droplets of water from the glass of water that had been spilled.

On the leftover mirror was writing, in a red color similar to the crimson of blood.

I wanna play the game.

A shiver wandered down her spine, lingering on her petrified nerves and the signals of them terrifying her further.

She heard a noise. She jumped at it, and then turned to see a paper flapping in the wintry wind.

It was computer processed.

Yeah, you will be the death of me.

Bury it

I won't let you bury it.

Her eyes only saw the word death.

Her knees buckled from beneath her.

Her mind was too fogged by fear to pay heed to the cuts grating themselves into the soft pale skin of her legs.

Her blood was cold.

A head of long black hair poked itself around the door.

"Kyoko, what's taking you so long? Seriously..." Her breath was stolen at the scene of wreckage and her friend in the middle of it, looking traumatized.

A weak voice managed, cracking with the scared feeling within her. "Moko...san..."

A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of a man's lips, though no one could see his silent pleasure of what he had caused.

The game had begun.

After writing that, I realized I have no idea what kind of idea this is. It's... Depressing, to say the least. Makes me want to go write something blindingly happy, like some uber cute fluff or something.

I know this supposed to scary, but... Jeez. I feel so scared (like something's going to jump out at me) and like my legs are actually cut.