“Ready...”

[We shouldn’t be doing this], he says. He is apprehensive, disquieted, by the events of the night before. He worries about the consequences of what is to come. His nerves shake him as he follows her into the room where he will kill her.

[Never mind shouldn’t], is her only reply. She is calm, certain, that all will go according to plan. She feels his hands on her and relishes in his possessiveness even in the simplest of movements. She watches him with eyes like black embers to her dress’s crimson blood. Her warm skin tingles quietly under cold metal as their fingers wrap around the knob to close the door.

“Set...”

[Stay still], he commands. He is entranced, walks in circles around her, admiring her from every angle. He no longer thinks about the consequences of what is to come. His hands do not shake when they settle at her hip and her throat.

[Forever], she says. She is devious, lends her weight to his arms. In her mind there comes an androgenous unity of mind and separation from all that is connected to the word “ought.” She knows that he will not notice as her free arm reaches for something behind his back.

“Go.”