Crimson heels click against the polished floor, silencing the chattering people as she passes. Whispers rise in her wake, falling like burning poison from stiff painted lips.
“Who is she?” They ask. But no one here has the answer.
The woman smiles, predatory, showing perfect white teeth through her glossy lips. She pays the words no heed, they are meaningless to one such as her. For she knows what comes next in this play she orchestrates.
The moment she leaves the room, gunshots echo behind her.
Screams– piercing and filled with so many pleas and regrets fill the air, and just under that, the sound of fat and frail bodies falling. The actors leave nothing behind.
The woman pays the sounds no mind, continuing her steady march as stone crumbles, glass shattering as bullets fly without remorse. Without even a brief thought to any possible consequences.
She glides into a waiting elevator, the silver doors shutting just as security rounds the bend. She catches the eye of one young man and smiles softly. As she rises, she waves her hand, drawing out the young man’s name in the air. The traced letters spark once, then fade.
A sharp ding reclaims her attention, and she steps out into a long corridor, at the end of which waits the centerpiece of the production.
There are no guards here, no one to question her as she throws open the large double doors, striding confidently inside.
Within, sits an older man. The remaining hair atop his head is a striking silver, his pale flesh is marked by wrinkles where it is not pulled taunt against his bones, but his eyes– oh his eyes are still piercing, still as unflinching as they had been in his youth.
Silently, he offers her a glass as he sips delicately at his own. She accepts it with a smile, settling across. They sit and drink, awaiting the storm that’s rising below them.
“Not going to run?” She asks, sweeping her red hair– red like everything she wears— over one shoulder.
“No.” The man answers, downing the rest of his glass. The woman nods, smiling softly as a proud teacher would. He blinks and she disappears just as footfalls sound behind the door.
“As I told you Arthur,” She whispers, warm breath ghosting over his ear. Suddenly at his side, gloved hand curling around his shoulder. “There is a price to my favor.”
The doors burst open in a spray of bullets, cries slip past his clenched teeth as the metal shells connect, spraying red and drenching the carpet.
All the while the woman stands there, crimson splattering against crimson, unseen.
On the carpet, spread out amongst the shattered remains of his desk, bleeding out, Arthur smirks before succumbing to his wounds. The woman chuckles, appearing before the murderous men.
She downs the rest of the wine, smirking as the men raise their weapons.
The building trembles as the explosives Arthur had placed go off, condemning the men. The woman cackles, eyes wide in amusement. She throws her hands out as the building begins to fall.
“Karma spares none.”