They were all dead. A room full of people I barely knew
It was all my fault. Understand, I wasn’t talking in the abstract. I wasn’t pulling one of those “If only I’d gotten here sooner . . . “ guilty hero moments. I was the bad guy. I’d killed them, and, sure, it’d been an accident, but I couldn’t claim to be a choirgirl.
My only excuse was that I hadn’t thought it would actually work. You find a magic spell on the internet. You mix the ingredients into a cake. You say the incantation. You leave the cake out where your mooching roommate will find it. You wait for nature to take its course.