O, these drugs. O, they're not as bad as you might think! They will kill you, but they wont make you weaker! Prelude to my heroine's birth, and a newborn landmark to my success.
A mighty fine Prelude.
With an unconcerned, yet powerful posture she glanced at – what at first seemed like a bloody wreckage – the moaning, bloody, flesh clung body writhing amongst the polished tiles. With an eliminatory glance at the writhing, distressed bundle of bone and flesh the woman exhaled a plume of grey smoke sailing through the dull depths of the exquisite lamp’s glow whose position was but a yard or two above her left shoulder. She smirked – it was a provocative, mocking smirk – at what little future this creature would ever look forward to, she smirked for all his existence was worth, she smirked because she knew that his time was up, and she smirked at how his last minutes were not being used to reflect, but to look at her beautiful, knowing face – to look at her face with fear, sorrow and with a twitch of his blood drained lip - flesh which could scarcely be called a lip – it was an adequate answer to the cruelties in this world, in this room.
With the cigarette holder perfectly poised between her lips she inhaled elegantly, lips giving way to a pout, raising a shoulder, like one might raise a pistol. An action, an answer, an answer to the mighty pleasures one might find in torturing a useless whelp while sitting in a luxurious chair.