The glass was smeared, smeared with what seemed to be red-tainted lipstick. Crystal blue eyes stared through the thin water-like sheer in front of them. The center of the eyes held a strange aura of innocence that was once lost. Long locks of simple, brown hair shrouded around the cheekbones and jawline. A few freckles poked out from the skin around the delicate and small nose. A pair of full, pink lips were smooth and seemed as if they were shaking.

She knew what she had done.

A slender hand crawled over the vanity table and a couple fingers grasped at the small knife. The blood was still on it, shimmering in the dim light coming from the top of the mirror. A small smile of satisfaction crawled across her lips as she lifted the blade to her lips. Her nose picked up the scent of death as she ran the silver edge of the blade across her lips, tasting the iron from the blood. The small amount of red liquid mixed with her saliva as her hand started to shiver.

The room was cold to her. Her eyes stared blankly into the mirror before her, smiling at the open window from behind. Satin curtains with the color of dark green danced from the wind roaring from the outside. A small painting hung on the flower-coated wall beside the window; a haunted-looking young girl staring into the abyss of reality. What a lucky child, to stay in that painting and forget loneliness, the young woman thought.

Her eyes shifted from looking at the painting, to the bed, where she was last seen. Red and purple cloth swam ontop of the wide mattress. Two lumps slept underneath the fabric, in silence. foolish...she thought as she lowered her hand to he side. She watched the lumps in the bed not move for a few more moments, before leaving the room, to let them stay eternally asleep.

Sirens blared from the outdoors as the girl walked calmly through the narrow hallway to the stairs. Moonlight poured into the stairwell as she descended down to what she thought would be freedom. Holding the knife tightly, she could hear her bare feet tap against the wooden steps. Once she reached the ground floor, she grinned twistedly. Her eyes spotted the flashing red and blue lights from in front of the house and she strolled into the kitchen. She placed the knife onto the white-tiled countertop and opened a cabinet. Inside were some dishes and glasses. Her hands touched a small wine-glass and she pulled it off of the shelf.

She took a few steps to the small fridge and opened the door, taking out a small bottle of wine. The red color indicated that it was red wine, and she opened the metal top to it. A small amount was poured into the glass and the bubbling taste hit her mouth like an electric shock when she touched it to her lips.

The sirens were louder now, and she could hear footsteps approaching the front door. Damn, i wanted to enjoy my last drink, she thought and put down the glass. She was now in front of the kitchen sink, and she noticed a large butcher knife sitting in a wooden holder, it's blade smiling at her, calling out to her. Her hand touched the plastic handle and she watched as a couple policemen slammed into the front door. Their faces seemed so serious through the small window on the top of the door, and she sighed.

It is futile, men, she thought. When you come in, you will be too late to stop what I have started. Never again will they make love in our bed. Never again will they taste each other's toughness in a heated passion. Never again will they slither behind my back with cover-ups such as board meetings or parties. Her mind wandered as she lifted the knife to her throat, the tip tickling at her soft skin, teasing her. Never again will I be able to feel love for someone, for myself, for life. And neither will they.

She closed her eyes as the door busted open a few feet away from her. With a quick swipe, she felt all her anger and hatred melt away into a pool of light. She could see the beautiful stars above, and smell the sweet scent of lavender and wine as her final moments shriveled into nothing. Her body hit the ground, her whimpers like a dying kitten. The policemen would hold her up and check her pulse, only to fine none. They would walk into the bedroom upstairs and see the two lumps in the bed: a man and a woman naked, shredded from stabs, and blood staining the once purple sheets.

It was a terrible, and yet beautiful, sight of death. And it was like artwork through the lipstick on the glass of the mirror. And to add to the art. the lipstick spelled out "Beauty is Death, and Death is Love, and You are the one I Love the Most."