You’ve seen her kill before, few times. You've never bothered to stop her. You probably couldn’t. Maybe you didn’t want to. She’s always watching, knows everything about you. Especially you. You almost never speak to her. Out of fear. Out of something else. You know she won’t hurt you. She's told you she won't. But what if that ever changes? What if you wanted it to?

“You’re late.”

Her voice is cold, delicate, somewhat weak. Her eyes don’t blink. They remain steady, watching your body language, reading you like a book. There’s blood on her sleeves again, but she doesn’t mention it... neither do you. The air between you both is thick with everything unspoken.

"Normally you get to the bar at around 8:30. It's almost 10. What were you doing?"