He sat waiting for her to come. He knew she would. She couldn’t resist being the hero. And he would enjoy her demise. There was nothing as sweet as the smell of dead heroine in the evening. A sly smile to the girl beside him, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the arm of the chair. There was something so deep and visceral to the demise of a person as they poured their secrets out and it made his skin tingle in anticipation.
