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Large yellow green eyes looked over the soon to be crime scene. On the bed laid a man gurgling on his own blood, staining the Egyptian cotton sheets he occupied. Alix then looked to the nearby night stand where their wedding photo sat proudly. They were a handsome couple… so in love, or so it would seem. He was enamored and one could definitely see how much he adored his wife that day, six months passed, when they had exchanged their nuptials. She looked down at her hand and the large rock that sat just below her platinum band. She had been so close… but the life of a housewife had never suited her. He was the only one she even considered marrying.

Somehow, the only emotion she was feeling was relief. Release… better than sex washed over her. The kill always brought that feeling and the stakes had never been higher. She would be implicated this time, but that didn’t matter. They would never catch her alive. The scores of men she had murdered paled in comparison to the feeling of killing the one that had come so close to being the one she couldn't kill. She was free again. John was a good man… hell, he had even talked her into going to church with him on Sundays. He was the kind of man that one would bring home to meet their parents… if said parents weren’t locked up in an asylum somewhere of the coast of California. Momma had taught her early that the only good man was a dead man, and she had meant it. Papa had survived, somehow, but the torture had driven him mad.

Alix didn’t torture John… no. Not him. He was a good man, so she gave him a peaceful goodbye. Hot, sweaty sex with a slit to the throat at the peak of his climax. His eyes followed her as she walked around the room to gather some things. Their usual blue fogging over like swamp water. “Shhh…. Relax, John. It will be over soon. Thank you, darling… thank you for loving me. I hope you have no regrets”, she murmured into his ear during a brief pause and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. An eerie giggle followed her endearment and she went back to work. She gathered two duffel bags and stuffed them with the necessities; clothes, underthings, and shoes along with various toiletries and personal care items.

Soon, she was in her new car… the one John had bought her for a wedding gift. The black Lambo moved like a dream across the freeway as she headed towards the airport, passport sitting on the dash and every dime of his trust fund in her check book linked to several off-shore accounts. The year and six months they had spent together had been well worth the wait for this moment. She got the thrill of killing him and made out like a bandit. Though, at the end of the day, it was a drop in the bucket when she considered the millions she had acquired over the years of being the infamous ‘Black Widow’ of modern times. She smiled as she thought of all of the articles and fables she had heard and read about herself. From state to state, things differed from the truth, and she constantly changed her appearance thanks to a high end plastic surgeon she had on retainer, but the result was always the same. Sometimes she would be able to get away with a few kills under the same guise but that was only because she never committed to a relationship with any single man.

Except this time. John was different. He had a dark side and let her take some of her frustrations out on him via role play, but it was never enough. The thirst was always there, but as with most things, the anticipation of what was inevitable only made the kill that much more pleasurable. Shaking her head a little, she snapped out of her reverie and pulled into a crowded parking lot at the airport and headed over the private charter section to pay for a flight. It didn’t matter the cost or the destination, so long as she was able to slip the hell out of dodge and not get caught.

When she boarded the plane and got settled, the captain came over the loud speaker, “We will be arriving in Harper Rock in 13 hours with very little turbulence. Have a pleasant flight, Miss Murphy.”

Sitting in a swivvle chair, in the dimly-lit dank recesses of his 'workshop', Psyche watched the small television set's subtitles scroll up as it described the murder scene that had been discovered. The victim's throat slit mid-coitus. Cause of death: exsanguination. Just beautiful. The primary suspect, missing and unable to be found with all missing assets of the victim. The wedding photo of the couple displayed, telling of probable cause and suspicion laying with the wife. He leaned forward in his seat and looked over the photo. Her lines were superb, skin flawless. There was most likely surgery involved, symmetry was seldom ever so exact. Giving a final raise of the brow, he clicked the remote button to shut off the tv.

"Now, where were we?", he said calmly, swivvling back around to face the exquisite beauty laying on his wooden table.

Laying beside her already bloodied body, were various surgical instruments and tools. The girl laid there, strapped down by leathers, crying attempted pleas for release. However, the almost endearing expression upon Psyche's face gazed upon her with steady eyes and carressed her platinum locks. She couldn't understand it now, but she was embarking on a magnificent journey of transformation. The larva would soon enter crysallis and turn to a beautiful butterfly. Her glory would bring awe to a world of cynnics and bring a temporary end to the dull droll of the times. The bland, dying character of society needed beauty in life and like many of the artists before, he would manifest it for them. Michaelangelo, Da'Vinci, VanGogh .... even Jesus was a carpenter.

Picking up the scalpel from the metal tray, he placed the edge to the side of the woman's face. Of course, her immediate reaction was to squirm. He pulled the blade away briefly and used his free hand to tilt her face to face his own, locking his gaze with her own.

"Don't fight, pet. It's inevitable to struggle against evolution. What is meant to be, shall be. Accept that you have been chosen and blessed with such a gift."

He offered a kiss to her forehead and returned the scalpel to the edge of her hairline, holding her head still with his steady grasp. The blade sliced through layer and layer of epidermis, cutting the flesh seemlessly as he began to trace the outline of her face. Forehead down around to the ear, ear to jawline, jawline to chin, and around until eventually the tracing would soon return to the original point of entry. When he'd first begun his artwork, he'd often need to offer an extra oomph to break back the resistance of the flesh. This sometimes would create an imperfection in the lines. In the years after, he'd perfected the necessary pressure needed to keep the blade at just the right depth and force to create perfect lines.

He of course saw her mouth extended open; knew there were surely screams resonating within the depths of the area where, unfortunately for her, no one would hear. To him all that was heard...was silence. It's all that was ever heard. In events like these, it was a gift, he'd accepted that perhaps it was intended to allow him to carry out his necessary work in the world. So often though, he wished he could get lost in the eloquent melody of a symphony, or crank the volume on the stereo and let the hard notes of the treble and bass assail his eardrums. But to no avail, here he'd have to stand and watch the muted mimings of the beauty as he began to peel away the layers of flesh from the muscle beneath.

"Shhhhhhhh. Enjoy this, pet. Embrace the beauty in pain."

“Miss Murphy… wake up… the plane has landed.” She heard somewhere in her dream. She had been flying, feeling on the precipice of ecstasy. After every kill, her dreams were full of that feeling. It was almost like basking in the afterglow. “Hm?” She mumbled, slowly waking to seeing a shapely Asian woman looking down at her with a cavity-sweet smile on her thin lips. “I’m up.” She replied and yawned a little as she sat up and stretched. She looked out the window as she found her shoes and soon was tugging her luggage from the large overhead compartments. On her way out the door she grabbed a handful of mini bottles of bourbon. “For the road,” she muttered and made her way to the tarmac where a sexy black car was waiting on her with a sign that said ‘Murphy’ held by an equally sexy driver. Had she not just murdered her husband fourteen hours prior, she might consider tasting his lips while she helped him slit his wrists. Alix shivered at the delicious thought and winked at the man as she slipped into the car.

“Where to?” He asked, to which she replied, “West Towers, handsome.” Thirty minutes or so later, she was being pulled up to the hotel and the bell boy came to get her luggage. Such temptation… why must she be tempted so? She left a tip for the driver and followed the bellhop into the hotel, who escorted her to a reserved room. Operation Missing Serial Killer was underway.

Jet lag had set in, leaving her nocturnal for the time being. So here it was… 2 am and she decided to wander out. The night was cool and the stars were bright. It really was peaceful. The sound of her high-maintenance heels sounded on the sidewalk and she looked around at her new home. Some of the faces she saw were rather peculiar; even paler than her own, which definitely said something. Eventually, she found her way to what seem like a local dive and went in to have a drink. While she waited on the bartender, Alix lit a smoke and looked out over the other patrons… all two of them. “Lovely.” She mumbled and crossed her legs on the barstool. She was dressed in a white tank and some tight, black jeans. The bartender finally came around and she ordered a double Jameson on the rocks with a pinch of sugar and looked up at the screen where the news was showing her wedding photo. “****.” She grunted and looked around, but grinned when she realized that the other two patrons were practically getting it on in a booth facing away from the TV and the bartender wasn’t paying attention. Furthermore, there was no volume. She might get away with this yet. Her far-to-expensive surgeon was due in town in two days. She just had to finish her drink and lay low until then.