Will looks down with a small grin, almost looking like he's shy. ...he's not shy, he's just holding all the pleased feelings within himself and enjoying them. "All right, well. Guess I'll do my 'trick,' in that case. I'm not sure if it'll come 'out' or not, since I'm comfortable. Either way..." He looks up and smiles. "Give me a minute."
He looks down at the body, his expression smoothing over into something blank. He takes a deep breath in, closes his eyes, and the pendulum of light swings. And swings, and sweeps away anything not relevant, anything that time changed. Eventually, even the body is gone.
"I didn't kill her here," he murmurs, eyes still closed. "No, that would be disrespectful. Only the best for these girls, always. I drug them, lightly, so they're resting, then suffocate them slowly. The body doesn't even know it's dying. It's all...gentle." He sees himself bridal-carrying her into the area, set her down on the tarp, and move to grab bundles of flowers. "They might have rejected the strive towards perfection, but I haven't. I'm helping them...transforming them into their best selves. It's important that I do this."
He crouches over the body, like he's sleepwalking. His hand moves vaguely over the tableau. "I've watched them a lot, and I know what they need. I do her hair, I slide her gloves on, I arrange the flowers. I...flinch as I take out her eye, as I sever the optic nerve, but it must be done. She will be beautiful in ways I will never be, and she will be seen by all. This is my design."
His eyes flutter open and his head shakes- twitches, really. But he's back. He rubs at his face as he shifts to standing, part of his ritual to return to the real world. "Was I saying that out loud?" he asks Malcolm, genuinely unsure.
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He looks down at the body, his expression smoothing over into something blank. He takes a deep breath in, closes his eyes, and the pendulum of light swings. And swings, and sweeps away anything not relevant, anything that time changed. Eventually, even the body is gone.
"I didn't kill her here," he murmurs, eyes still closed. "No, that would be disrespectful. Only the best for these girls, always. I drug them, lightly, so they're resting, then suffocate them slowly. The body doesn't even know it's dying. It's all...gentle." He sees himself bridal-carrying her into the area, set her down on the tarp, and move to grab bundles of flowers. "They might have rejected the strive towards perfection, but I haven't. I'm helping them...transforming them into their best selves. It's important that I do this."
He crouches over the body, like he's sleepwalking. His hand moves vaguely over the tableau. "I've watched them a lot, and I know what they need. I do her hair, I slide her gloves on, I arrange the flowers. I...flinch as I take out her eye, as I sever the optic nerve, but it must be done. She will be beautiful in ways I will never be, and she will be seen by all. This is my design."
His eyes flutter open and his head shakes- twitches, really. But he's back. He rubs at his face as he shifts to standing, part of his ritual to return to the real world. "Was I saying that out loud?" he asks Malcolm, genuinely unsure.