The thick, cold blood on Carrie felt like a second skin, another layer of gory, gross flesh. It moved in red rivers, dripping into patterns that were equally hideous and beautiful. Carrie should have felt unclean and dirty, but remarkably, she didn't. Later that night, she would wonder if blood could be cleansing, wondered if this night, her second birth, was akin to being baptised again.

But right now, as the bouquet of fresh flowers stained crimson, fell from her grasp, Carrie felt sick to her stomach with rage and humiliation. She stumbled forward on her borrowed heels, the skirt of her ruined silk dress dragging a puddle of blood in her wake. She looked from her bloodied hands to the crowd before her that stared up at her with faces of blinking, saucer eyes and hanging mouths. No one in the crowd had expected this kind of crowning. The stunned silence was deafening.

"What the fuck?" Tommy Ross shouted out, blood marking his face and the shoulders of his suit too, though he had only received some of the over-splash of pig's blood. "Who fucking did this?" Tommy wiped off the blood on the side of his face roughly, his eyes narrowing. He couldn't believe someone would do this to Carrie Moore—it was despicable.

There was giggling off in the wings of the stage and the bloodied king and queen flicked their gazes to Deliah Snell and Christabelle Slater clutching at each other in a fit of laughter. The silence of the crowd didn't last long and laughing took its place, stirred on by Deliah and Christabelle. The laughter was cruel and mean and mostly collective, all directed at Crazy Carrie with a thing for blood. Down in the throng of students, Ava Gold was hushing people with pointed fury. How dare they do something like this to her friend!

Mr Sanberg was the closest person of authority to the stage, and he wasn't even trying to the hide the chuckle that vibrated through his chest as he approached the stage, holding one hand over his nose to prevent him from breathing in the horrid smell of cold pig's blood.

"You've made quite the mess, Carrie," he announced, as if this was Carrie's fault. Mr Sanberg went for Carrie, ready to guide the girl off the stage and to the boy's locker room—the closest locker room—to clean off.

"Are you kidding me?" Tommy roared out before Carrie even had the chance to rebut. The soft jock stepped forward, ready to push Mr Sanberg away, but he didn't make it to Carrie's side.

No one would ever know if it was God's plan or just a trick the universe decided to play, but at that moment, the loosely tied rope holding the bucket dripping with pig's blood slipped. The bucket fell from its great height above the stage, dropping like a stone in its decent. The bucket slammed against's Tommy head with damning force, cracking the skull open like an egg. Echoing screams littered the air as Tommy hit the floor instantly, more blood escaping onto the stage floor.

"Tommy!" Deliah cried out, dashing towards her ex-boyfriend dead on the bloodied stage. The blonde teenager girl slipped on the puddle of pig's blood, the same blood she and Christabelle had purchased from a butcher two days ago. The daring red material of her dress soaked into the spilt blood as she skidded to Tommy's motionless side. Christabelle was still standing in the wings of the stage, frozen in disbelief—she and Deliah had murdered Westfield High's favourite jock. Accident or not, murder was murder. "Oh, my god! Tommy!" Deliah sobbed, tears slicing through the heavy make-up decorating her pretty face. The salty tears traced lines down her face that ran side-by-side with the leaking mascara. There was muttering in the crowd, but no one knew what to do, not really. A teenage boy was dead and it was like Winn Nelson all over again.

Carrie watched the scene unfold, her heart hardening, turning to ice and winter. But the thing about ice and winter was that it more brutal, more violent, than fire and it destroyed so slowly and so determinately. For ice was always the endgame. While fire could fizzle out and die when there was nothing left to burn, ice didn't. Ice could keep expanding for miles and for years without the sun. Ice was worse than fire, and right now, Carrie's rage wasn't burning hot, it was freezing cold.

"Tommy, please," Deliah pleaded, her hands kneading at Tommy's jacket, begging for him to come back. But he didn't move, didn't blink for there was no breath of life left in the boy, just cooling blood and tragedy. Deliah's tears turned sour as she lifted her gaze to Carrie. "Look what you did! He killed him!"

Carrie let out an exhale of surprise as her blood temperature lowered dangerously. She could feel the blood moving in her veins, slow but steady like some chilly Antarctic lake, along with the pig's blood lining her skin. She could also feel power churning inside of her, dark and ruthless—it wanted out with teeth and claws.

"You'll get what's coming for you, you fucking crazy bitch!" Deliah spat out the words as heavy teardrops splattered against Tommy's lapel. And Carrie Moore supposed she would get what's coming for her, whether that be the Devil or God, but she also decided that she was the one coming for Deliah Snell and Christabelle Slater and Mr Sanberg and the rest of Westfield High.

"You're right, Deliah," Carrie said with more confidence in her voice than ever before. She didn't whisper or stutter, no, she spoke with striking clarity and ruling strength. "I will get what's coming for me one day, but right now, I'm the one that's fucking coming for you," Carrie turned to the crowd still watching in half-shock, half-horror. "For all of you, motherfuckers!"

Carrie extended her arms, feeling raw power ripple across her skin, mixing with the pig's blood; it felt glorious. She gave a roar as she expelled a force from her body with the strength of a hurricane, the strength of a goddess. The force surged through the air and propelled the crowd backwards in one collective blow. Bodies were thrown back against each other, tables and chair flipped in the air. Bones cracked and blood oozed as screams scarred the atmosphere.

Seeing the display of impossible power, Deliah scattered away from Tommy's lifeless body, slipping on tainted blood. She trembled in horror as she clocked Carrie Moore turning back towards her, draped in scarlet silk and shadow. "Stay back, you witch bitch!" Deliah croaked out, fear twisting her throat.

And Carrie just grinned, turning one palm over so it was facing upwards. Both girls watched as Carrie controlled the blood on her hand; it floated off her skin in carmine droplets. "My mother called me a witch" The droplets danced, shining like rubies. "I think I believe her," Carrie said honestly, eyes flashing back to Deliah Snell. The teenage girl didn't look like a high school queen now, she had no power here and now she was the one bowing down, crumbling under Carrie Moore, the bloodied prom queen.

Carrie curled her palm upwards and Deliah lifted off the stage flooring, her beautiful red dress swirling around her long, lean legs. Deliah looked like she was underwater; her hair lazily swimming around her pretty face. But pretty girls couldn't breathe underwater. Carrie clenched her fingers and her nails dug into the skin of her palms as Deliah's windpipe crashed in on itself. Deliah kicked out as she strangled to death with no hands wrapped around her throat.

A heartbeat later, Deliah's rag-doll body dropped like a bag of sand beside Tommy's corpse. The prom king and should-have-been prom queen made for a charming couple spread out and littered with blood on the stage, their hands inches apart. Carrie tilted her head to the side as she stared at Tommy's body and sadness bloomed in her chest but it was followed by chilly rage. Tommy Ross didn't deserve to die, but the rest of the school did and now he was too far away, gone from the land of the living, yet he would join the rest of the ghosts that dwelled in the doomed halls of Westfield High, including Winn Nelson.

Looking away from the soft jock, Carrie imagined the stage burning. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. The stage curtains went up in flames, roaring with a fire that spread with such determination and furious passion. A chorus of shouts and screams made Carrie remember the rest of the student body behind her on the dance floor.

She turned, stepping over the fallen flowers from the bouquet. They were white lilies but Carrie preferred red roses. Carrie remembered every little moment that she had been bullied, tormented, humiliation and belittled by the students of Westfield High and it spurred her forward with the grace of a storm. She glided down the stage steps, dripping in blood and power that awoke on her skin as a great fire burned at her back—her rage in physical form.

Carrietta Moore strolled through her destruction like Persephone strolling through hell. She was beautiful and unafraid, wearing hell and chaos like a throned crown with blood glossing her skin like sweet pomegranate juice. The crowd of prom-goers were quickly turning into a stampede, frightened and fleeting towards the gym doors. Carrie flicked her wrist and the doors slammed shut, locking into place. Holy water couldn't save them now. No angel, winged or fallen, could save them now. Not even God could save them now for Carrie was coming to burn this whole fucking school down. She didn't want their love, didn't want their acceptance and didn't even want their fear. No, she just wanted their ruin, and she would take that with a singed heart and bloodied hands that would never come clean again.

There were teenagers running and weeping for dead friends and Carrie didn't stop. She sent tables and chairs flying, crushed people in the fold-in bleachers as golden sparks from the broken wires in the ceiling rained down on her. The crying and the screaming were like a church choir singing in heavenly voices.

This was Carrie's special night, her explosion and second birth. She spotted Mr Sanberg hiding behind an uprooted table, his white dress shirt covered in soot from the great fire consuming the stage. He realised when he'd been spotted and tried to escape from Carrie, but he didn't get very far. She remembered how mean he'd been to her in English class when he should have supported her. Carrie walked towards him, her heels sounding out on the polished floor. "Am I too quiet now, sir? Too disturbing for you?" Mr Sanberg screamed and it wasn't a very masculine scream either.

"You don't have to do this," he tried to reason, tried to calm Carrie, but she was finally free and wild. There was a broken glass sitting by the flipped table and Carrie narrowed her eyes at it. She imagined Mr Sanberg bending down to receive and slicing his throat open with the sharp edge. The image was so vivid in her mind that she thought it was tangible and happening in real life.

No, wait, it was! Mr Sanberg bent at an awkward angle, his knees and back stiff. Carrie realised she was controlling his actions, making him do something against his will. The power, the darkness, in her blood was growing, waking and it brought forth even more impossible power. His teeth were gnashing and he was fighting against her but he still picked up the shard of broken glass and brought it up to his neck.

"Bare that throat for me, Mr Sanberg, and I'll show you my teeth," Carrie ordered with girlish cruelty akin to that of Deliah and Christabelle. The man was shaking violently, trying to resist the teenage girl, but she was stronger. He bared his throat and as Carrie snapped her teeth at her teacher, he dragged the glass across his throat. Blood came gushing out like a crimson waterfall. Carrie closed her eyes and turned her face to heaven at the sound of hot, rushing blood. She smiled wickedly and sweetly before moving on to find Christabelle among the total chaos and anarchy that belonged only to her.

The students around her were descending into madness and becoming feral. Students pushed and shoved to get away from Crazy Carrie and trampled a few fallen girls with broken ankles. Death hung in the air like a cloud and Carrie couldn't even begin to count how many people she had already killed in such stunning wrath that belonged in the tales of Greek mythology.

Carrie found Christabelle running in the opposite direction, clawing at a crying boy she wanted to use as a shield. Twisting her wrist, Carrie flung the boy away and he skidded across the gym floor, and she then closed in on Christabelle. The dark-haired girl went to say something, her make-up smeared across her face, but Carrie didn't want to hear anything that Christabelle Slater had to say, not anymore. Carrie remembered how Michael Langdon had burnt Winn Nelson and it inspired her. Her blood pulsed and boiled as a fire erupted on the hem of Christabelle's silver dress. It wasn't as brilliant as Michael's reaping fire but it was still impressive as it shallowed the teenage girl up greedily until the girl crumpled like sand, like a pillar of salt and ash.

Carrie turned, soaking in her triumph and the insanity that she had made with the cursed blood that teemed under her flesh, still hungry, still growing into an unstoppable and ancient force that had finally awoken. But then Carrie spied an emerald green dress, ripped and bloodied and she hurried forward with haste. She pushed away a broken chair to find Ava Gold laying still among Carrie's ruins.

Blood pooled around the dark-skinned girl, leaking from a wound on her temple, deep and gory. Grief and guilt attacked Carrie's heart and a sob fell from her painted lips, now painted in blood than her lipstick. "Ava? Ava, wake up!" Yet her eyes weren't closed, but wide open and still. No life shone in her dark eyes, no sunshine. Carrie gathered Ava's lifeless body into her arms, cradling her dead friend. "No, no, no! NO!" Ava's skin was cold to the touch and a floodgate was smashing open in Carrie's heart. She was drowning in sorrow as tears slipped down her red cheeks. "Please, please come back!" Carrie wept, her words thick and heavy and her heart pounded painfully. The murder of Ava Gold ached Carrie more than any other murder she had committed that night.

Carrie's heart was breaking, the ice shattering into tiny, deadly pieces that sliced at the chambers of her darkened heart. She remembered the day when Ava Gold had helped her up off the ground, remembered the days Ava had spent beside Carrie in the quiet library, and she remembered the night that Ava had braided Carrie's hair for the pep rally. Ava Gold had been Carrie's only friend at Westfield High and Carrie had taken her life. She didn't want Ava Gold to dwell with the other poor souls here, eternity was too long and Ava didn't deserve that.

She gripped Ava Gold harder, flesh pressed against flesh, as if Carrie's warmth, her life, could seep into Ava's body. Carrie's tears puddled on Ava's cheek, sliding down the smooth curves to settle in the hollow of her throat. Her shoulders shook with terrible grief, so much so, that Ava's cold body shook too with the vibration.

"He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness for the sake of His name. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me, Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me," Carrie whispered out with tears sounding in the prayer from Psalm. None of this triumph was worth Ava Gold's life, and at that moment, Carrie would have traded her own life for that of her lost friend's. Carrie would have traded anything for life to spark inside of Ava Gold again.

She traced her fingers over the gross wound on Ava Gold's temple, wishing for her life to transfer into Ava's body, filling her soul with sunshine and goodness. Carrie chocked back tears that slumped at the back of her throat and leaned down, pressing her bloody lips to Ava Gold's forehead gently.

There was a surge of power, a flow of power, that moved through Carrie's veins, moved through her bones and moved through the lining of her skin. Her life force was departing her, flowing into Ava's body like water moving smoothly down a river, heading for the ocean. The power transferred through the kiss and when Carrie drew back, she was shaken at the life that was returning to Ava's dark eyes. Faintness pulled at Carrie, her head filling with dizzy darkness but that didn't stop the genuine smile that pulled at her lips.

"Fucking hell!" Seth Covey muttered out, skidding to Ava's side suddenly. The boy wasn't terrified of Carrie at that moment; he knew she wasn't going to hurt him, not when she was cradling a once-dead-girl so tenderly. But the screaming and shouting in the gym continued and Carrie could hear sirens in the distance. She needed to leave and her rage was washing away, fleeting as reality set in.

"Will you look after her?" Carrie asked as tears still littered her cheeks. Seth nodded, his face turning ghost white as the wound on Ava's temple healed over with soft, fresh skin. Seth Covey didn't know what Carrie Moore was, but he knew in his heart that she wasn't evil, despite the hell she'd razed that night. Carrie shuffled Ava's warming body into Seth's arms as the dark-skinned beauty blinked and blink as Carrie's life force worked through her body, waking it back up. "Thank you," she muttered, scrambling up to her feet.

"What will you do now?" Seth asked, hugging Ava close. Tears shone in his kind eyes and his cheeks were shadowed with ash and dirt from the mayhem.

"I don't know," Carrie replied softly.

She didn't feel any chilly or burning rage in her now, only guilt and shame. She didn't know what she was going to do now, and she wasn't sure how she'd brought Ava Gold back from the shadowed valley, but she knew she had to flee Westfield High. Carrie glimpsed at Ava Gold one more time with a bloody kiss on her forehead, before turning away. She hurried into the darkness that embraced her wholely and surely as if she belonged in it, and perhaps now she did.