Her slim arm was spread across the blood-blackened rug, fingers curled into her palm like the final repose of a dying ballerina. Even now, she was so graceful; so lovely to look at, all slender legs and arms, sprawled out at odd angles like one of her broken dolls.
Those delicate fingers jerked, when he twisted the blade in her chest-- Twitched and shuddered, like insects, struggling against the knives that had pinned her palms to the floor.
She couldn't scream anymore, but the blood was filling her lungs, and it came bubbling up through her pretty lips when she tried to cry out in pain. God
, she had always looked so splendid in red, but far brighter than this. In the dim light, it looked far too dark to bring out those eyes, the lovely shade of her hair.
"If you'd done as I'd asked, my dear-- Why couldn't you just be a good little girl, this one
He sounds so sad. He is, really; he didn't want this to happen. He wanted her to help him, to come along nicely, to step aside and let him finish Adam off so they could go on the next thing. The better
But she wouldn't, oh, no. So stubborn, that she wouldn't even stop when he crushed her candles, and the right hand she held them in. If it were anyone else, he would have pressed his thumb into one of those tender eyes.
He'd always loved her eyes. So blue, when she wasn't in this form; so brilliantly gold, when she was. No matter how she lied, the way he'd taught her, he alone could still find that spark of truth behind her pretty gaze.