Lipstick is beautiful. It covers your lips like a new layer of cells; you’re different, you’re a whole new person. Lipstick is power. It’s a shade of seduction, a pronounciation of nature and an enhencement of beauty. It looks especially stunning on dead bodies. Then again, everything does.
Red lipstick looks the best.
Oh, she knows red is such a cliche; passion, blood. All the nonsense killers concern themselves with. It does not concern her. Blood disgusts her. Passion does not have a color. Red is elegance; it’s a finesse, an eternal classic. Black and white are far too simple, too plain to express art.
That’s why chess always bored her.
All the boardgame reduced to two colors, to position, to hierachy and need. She loved burning chess games, just to see the flaming red of fire consume it. To see it all end. Endings are beyond our control, a universal rule that is our destiny. Endings are erotic. She loved endings; endings were hers. She loved having one beautiful entity of her own to control.