Painting A Storm

It's past midnight. You're sitting on top of a hill, gazing at the stars and trying to recall what happened the night before. Even though the time flew quickly, you can still feel the cold blood on your body and taste the metal on your mouth. It hurts to lose someone you actually cared about, but the suffering you put on those who wronged your loved ones makes up for it. A crackling sound comes from behind you, as if a stick is being broken. While getting up and drawing your blade, you think to yourself, "How cliché? Someone must bother me while I am mesmerizing the girl I loved the most, the one who turned my tears into a grin, the one who concealed my suffering." A young lady appears, horribly bruised, her clothes ruined, and she is wobbling.