She had never looked so pretty. Long hair, beautiful makeup, a gorgeous pink summer dress with red accents that really brought out her big breasts, and nails to die for. Of course the hair looked pretty because of the extensions, and the nails were not her own, but damn… the mirror made her happy for once. She couldn’t remember when she was so happy about herself. For the very first time she shot a selfie, posted it on her profile and sat down on the couch with a glass of wine to wait for the police to arrive.
Once the police chief got his stomach under control, he appeared before the tv cameras and stated that details about the crime scene could not be revealed pending the investigation. He did however reveal that one person, female, in her forties, had been apprehended and that – so far – one victim had been identified. Pale with disgust and sadness, he cut the interview short and walked back to his car – head shaking. In his decades of service, he had seen all kinds of human behaviour. From the best to the worst. This… this, never.
The prosecutor did not hold back when he told judge and jury what went down that fatal night in July. Police photographs of the scene illustrated his horror story, written to put her away for good. Her defense lawyer did not even try to deny the facts. There was no denying. The only thing he could do was add more gruesome details to the tale, in order to make his plea for insanity sound plausible. Judge and jury, pale in their faces, some crying, did not need a lot of time. Life without parole, to be locked up for good.
Her reflection in the metal prison cell mirror showed her true self, but she still saw the beautiful woman she saw that night. Long hair, makeup, dress and big breasts, nails. Of course the first responders were quick to take it away after they stormed in her house, but to her the image had stuck. Her husband, cut in pieces, stripped of skin and hair and mutilated in ways that made the coroner puke in a corner of the bathroom, finally helped her feel beautiful. After all those years of calling names, abuse and neglect. After all those years of wasting money on gambling and booze, leaving nothing for her to go to a hairdresser even once, to buy a dress or to go get a manicure.
His hair looked better on her anyway. His skin was loose enough to become a really nice dress, and his nails needed only a little bit of cleaning and scraping to fit on hers. The makeup wasn’t even planned, but his blood on her fingers made a convenient lipstick and gave her pale skinned cheeks a healthy blush.
He finally, just once, had made her feel beautiful.