she's so beautiful.

¬She’s so beautiful.
Her face is so perfect, so exquisite – so fresh and youthful. I could stay here, holding her in my arms forever, watching, mesmerized as the flicker of the candlelight sends shadows dancing playfully across her face. Watching, as they stroke the gentle slope of her jaw, caressing her perfectly pointed chin. Moving slowly up to her softly parted lips, kissing her small, round cheekbones. Her eyes, so pure and blue, are now closed, and she looks so peaceful as the shadows of her eyelashes bob back and forth over her dainty little nose.
I notice a few strands of blonde, matted and bloody, stuck to her cheek, and carefully stroke them back behind her ear. Her hair is so long and luscious, it seems almost a shame to cut it. I grab a clump of it, and bring it up to my nose, taking in the smell.
Delicious.
I sit and stare at it a while, then reach for my scissors.
Small and delicate, I polish the carved ivory pictures and symbols of flowers and plants, and wipe the blades clean. The blades…
I love blades. Have for a long time, since I was a child.
I used to sit in my room for hours examining them. Sometimes I’d have my mother’s kitchen knives, or the hedge clippers from the shed, and I’d just sit there and play with them – Let the cool metal slide through my hands, dotting my fingers with the tips, making little red marks all over them, letting the blood trickle down my fingers and in to the palm of my hand.
I breathe in, gripping the scissors in my hand a little tighter, as I begin to hack away at her hair. It’s so thick and strewn with blood; it makes it harder to cut through.
I’ve always liked girls with shorter hair; it’s so much more feminine and easier to style. It doesn’t tangle as much.
“Perfect”
I scoop up the tendrils that have fallen around her, and brush smaller bits off her shoulders.
“Nearly finished” I say, a small smile spreading across my face.
“Soon, you’ll be the prettiest girl in the room!” I place her hair in a plastic bag to keep it safe. I always save their hair.
Pulling out my favourite makeup kit, I gently spread bright red lipstick across her lips, and dust her eyelids with smoky, dark colours – injecting colour back in to the face that has grown so pale.
I always love to doll them up and make them look pretty.
She really does look beautiful… It’s almost a shame.
Wiping the excess blood off her face and body, I lift her up and carry her over to the others. I prop her up in a sitting position next to the rest, admiring the work I’ve done. She’s my favourite so far.
“It’s too bad that after all this time, I never bothered to find out your name…”
I think back to when I first saw her. It was raining pretty badly outside, the worst storm we’ve had in years, and I had been having serious car troubles, so I was on my way home from work on foot.
It was so kind of her to offer a me a lift. There was something about her – something comforting that made me feel safe.
It was that moment that I knew I had to have her.
I followed her for weeks, studying her life, memorizing her schedule. I was obsessed.
I loved her. I loved her, and I didn’t even know her name.
I sat back in my chair, deep in thought.
She looked so sweet, especially in her new outfit, and I thought about how the features of her face reminded me of a flower.
That’s what she was – a delicate flower. Perhaps a lily, or a daisy. Something gentle – although, she did put up quite a fight. She didn’t want to make things easy for me.
“Aha!”
I stand and march in to the adjacent room, snapping a single, perfect white rose from a vase, pricking my finger as I do so.
I turn back, and fiddle with her dress until I get it to sit the way I like.
The final touches.
It’s finally complete.
I stand back, and can’t help but smile.
She’s a work of art.
The piece la resistance.
“Welcome to the family, Rose.”