The freckled blade shivers, clutched between roughned skin of tired fingers, shaking off the glare that sticks to it with sluggish zeal. Sharpened gazes fly across the room, into his eyes and into hers. His hand then moves along an invisible axis, as if drawing a papercutting out of a hole in a shoebox of memories. He repeats this a few times, smoothening the movement while relishing the danger and passion and pleasure of the force invested in him by his metallic extension. He looks at her still body, how it pushes through the boundries of her dress. There's such energy in her stillness, like an airplane about to take off- engines on, breaks about to be released.

There's not a single breath or a heaving bossoom. There's nothing but pure unadulterated silence and awe.

The blade is thrown, drops of perspiration slicing through, time condencsed, into the slab of wood behind her. Thud, relief and applause, that's his perversion.