Abigail was slow to open her eyes. They slowly blinked, never flickering or flinching as she stared up at the ceiling. Her dark eyelashes fluttered to meet her fuzzy new world.

Aches ran up her limbs, an angry battering of her extremities left her feeling foggy. The fog ran all the way up into her cranium. Waves of nausea mixed with a familial flaring of pain behind her eyes.

Silence married with the atmosphere. The slow crackle of the fireplace was the only source of noise as Abigail slowly pulled herself up from a supine position on the flower patterned sofa to a back straight and scrupulous one.

Her eyes dragged over to Alice's perfectly sat form. Her legs crossed one over the other, a long white apron tied tightly around her abdomen. Abigail's composure changed as her eyes floated to the spatter of blood that ran horizontally along her pristine white dress. Her silver cross dangled and reflected the shifting vermillion of the fire beside her frame.

Abigail blinked, once, twice, three times. Each blink slower than the last. She said nothing, mouth unmoving. As if frozen, her hands did not shake, her shoulders did not tremble.

Alice smiled, though it was a hollow. Never reaching her equally as empty eyes. The smile was conniving, disingenuous and devious. Alice recognized the way she swallowed thickly. Recognizing her mythic predilection.

The hollowness bloomed in her navy eyes. The light unable to reach them, as if the light was swallowed by the divine grace of God in her favour.

The salon was silent as Abigail's head tilted lazily. Alice brandished the knife, twisting it between her slender fingers. Still dipped with the blood of her last victim.

And then she broke, falling down to her knees. Unravelling before her with dangerous sobs and whimpers.

Her fingers wove between the fibers of the carpet, pulling at each tendril in trepidation. She still wore her wedding ring, it glinted in the fiery light of the salon. Her head shook swiftly, "No...no...no!" She repeated to herself over and over.

Alice didn't move, not an inch. Warming herself by the fire, she studied the woman's shaking form. Not much older than herself yet so far beneath. God had saved Alice, but tonight Abigail would die by his hand.

Her knees dragged against the carpet, marring Alice's carpet with the stench of ungodliness. "Please! Please! Miss!" Her hands clenched together in prayer and mercy, her finger tips white with fear as she clamped down with such strength.

For once the woman seemed to have moved. No longer dragged down by tardiness and sluggishness. How quickly those who fall short of God's will suddenly shift as the face of death pierces their psyche.

"Are you afraid?" Her monotone voice gave away at her inhumanity. Even as she preached the will of God, blood drawn by Satan himself ran down her face unto her nape.

The air rushed from the woman's glassy lungs, choking with tension. One could almost hear as the glass was rushed with tension before the fractures appeared and ruptured in her chest. The glass punctured any and every godless organ with sorrow.

Alice's fingers hooked her chin, making Abigail stare into the angelic eyes of her unraveler. She did not scream as she stared. Unmoving yet a constant fall of tears ran down her young face. Tears would not save her tonight.

"Please," Abigail's voice cracked as she choked on her slovenly sobs, "please." She looked wracked with humanity, downturned soft eyebrows and tear wrought eyes. Pulling at her skin, pulling at the paper of her epidermis.

Had she pleaded in the same way to her husband? Did he look at her in the same hollow way? Abigail's husband had left her years ago, sending her spiralling into indolence and inertia. Her inaction was unacceptable because this inaction went against the understandable and obvious decrees that He had given her and humanity.

Her lips quivered as she kneeled at Alice's feet. Is this how God feels? The thought made a dark shiver run up and between every bony pink vertebrae of her spine.

The tears stained Abigail's face as she pleaded and wailed in hope. Perhaps now her children would submit to the plentiful grace of God. May he save them from their mother's  idleness and inertia.

And even at the sight of Abigail's childhood eyes and trembling shoulders, Alice dug her icy blade down through the top of Abigail's skull. Abigail looked up at her with heavy eyes as the blade settled, she looked confused, yet burdened. Hot blood ran down her light hair, turning it a dark red. The liquid was smooth as it showered over her eyelids and onto her light blue ensemble. Soaking it.

Her eyes stayed open for a few moments after Alice twisted the knife from her cranium. Dropping the knife to the ground, Alice's fingers wound around her jaw, holding Abigail's limp body up.

She whispered, "Your path leads you to unbelief, my dear. If only you had believed, then perhaps, God's grace would have forgiven you." Abigail's eyes fluttered closed, as Alice's resonant voice spoke to her with the words of God.

Alice let Abigail's limp form falter to the carpeted ground. Her thick blood matted the carpet, filling each white gap with her sinful corrupted blood. This was God’s plan and Alice would follow the divine will of God without fail. Without stopping and without question.