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I didn’t mean to kill her. The rain poured down making the air cold, fire crackling; warming the around living space. She lays still on the ground with her lips tinted a cherry red and her shiny ebony hair reflected by the warm tones of the fluorescent lights; Accentuating her soft features. Her blood runs slowly down her tanned skin like a fine red wine. One you just have to have a taste of, before it runs dry. The velvety red runs deep into the veins of the stained oak wood floors. Painting a masterpiece that floods the mind with a pleasurable feeling. I pushed her hair back; cutting a lock off to keep as a souvenir; a reminder of her unrelenting beauty. As beautiful as she was the more untrustworthy. That’s all she was, a pretty doll that one could toy with. Like a marionette. She didn’t last long though. In the end pretty things do always do tend to wilt. Don’t they?