Murder. Torture. Breaking.

It was all saccharin sweet to her, but nothing was so sweet as what she did to her former lover under that glorious sky. Returning the gift of pain, returning that helpless feeling he bestowed upon her so many years prior, when she was too young and too alone to force him away. “How does it feel, baby,” she muttered between her scowling lips, picking up an unstained scalpel “how does it feel to be so bound and broken?”

Of course, the man whom was confined and stung up as though he were a rag doll, could not reply, he could only whimper, and those whimpers only fed her desire to make him suffer. “I thought you liked screaming baby,” she inquired running her index finger up the razor edge of the scalpel, “you sure liked it when you made me scream all those years ago. You sure loved making me scream and cry by tying me up and beating me all those years ago. Why do you not like screaming then? Do you not like getting your just desserts?”

She traced the scalpel along his forearms, leaving a small trail of blood, and causing the man to thrash. “Oh baby, don't do that it'll only make it harder,” she smirked coldly, her soft, blue eyes hardening like ice, “isn't that what you told me?” “Well, I'm not going to be nice to you anymore--- I'll show you my mean side,” she picked up an ax that was sitting upon the desk with her odd assortment of sharp objects, “I'll make this really hurt, I'll string you up and humiliate you. I'll break you, and I'll enjoy it.”

Dawn fell, and the glorious blue sky faded to black, casting shadows upon her master piece, that had taken so many years, and so many favors to finally construct. Her mouth, her white hair, and her hands were now stained with the crimson of murder, but in the end to her it was worth it. She stepped over his decapitated arms, and walked up to his torso strung up with chains by the stumps of his arms. “If only my hatred for you could become something tangible,” she muttered, licking off the blood on her hands. “If only I could torture you everyday, in a way you would never be able to escape. I wish I could go inside your dreams, and kill you there, and then when you go to hell, I'll follow you, and kill you there too. Too bad you're dead, but not to worry, I'll see you in hell when it's my time to go,” her voice crescendoed and she walked up to the torso and sunk her ruby, red nails into the cold, dead, flesh.

“I loved you. I loved you so much, until what you did to me! I would have still loved you, but you threw me to the ground like a broken toy,” she beat the flesh, with her tiny, ivory, fists, and the dull thumps echoed under the full moon. However, upon looking at her fallen lover her stone composure broke, and she started crying, falling to the ground into a sobbing ball of utter misery.

Her cries echoed in the desolate forest, but would not be heard. She hated him so much, but that hate could not mask the glorious love she had felt, for the first and last man whom ever held her dear. He broke her, and in the end she got her revenge, but she was by no means a sadist, by killing this man she showed the world her most masochistic side.