"You've got the prettiest green eyes, you have," Drusilla crooned. "Your mummy told you that, didn't she?"

The girl wept and cowered against the blood-spattered wall of the sitting room.

"You mustn't cry, poppet. Can't see your pretty eyes if you cry." Drusilla pulled the handkerchief from the dead man's pocket and carefully wiped the girl's face. "Now look at me, kitten."

Soon she pouted and used the handkerchief to clean the gore from her fingers.

Someone had once told her that the eyes were the doorway to the soul, but Drusilla only ever found brains on the other side.

~end~