I held in my hands what looked like a spine. Blood dripped down to the end. It gathered instead of dripping off. It collected into a long blade. A scythe. The white of the bone handle and the red of the blood blade clashed. But it was beautiful. I held the scythe in both hands. A pattern carved itself onto the bone. It was beautiful. Swirls blackened the color of the overall white. This was my innocence. It was breath taking.