Her hand is hot in yours, and you think she’s sweating. It’s not like you blame her, though- who wouldn’t be in awe being led away by their favorite superstar, RIFFLE?
The door to your hive opens, and you lead her inside. The girl, who you think is named Maycie, looks around. Her eyes are filled with wonder as she looks from band poster to band poster, awestruck.
“Like the decor?” You say, smugness masked by your typical sing-song voice. She nods, and she’s about to say something, but you cut her off. “I’d love to give you a tour of my hive, but maybe....after?” It’s not a question. There’s a moment of hesitation, but she agrees. “Great!” you shout, grabbing one of her hands with both of yours, careful to keep the sheaths on your wrists hidden. “Come this way!”
The block you lead her to is small, with not much more than a vanity, a nice chair, a soft rug, and some tapestries along the wall. There’s even some fanart taped to the walls, positioned in perfect view of the camera mounted on the vanity. She recognizes it, being that it’s the same block you do all of your makeup videos in.
“A behind the scenes look,” you say. Maycie giggles. Hearing that fills you with a sense of pride- maybe you’re doing something right, here. You pull the chair out for her, gesturing for her to take a seat. She sets herself down with a daintiness that you fully expected, the way a napkin sets itself on the floor after being dropped. You bear your teeth in a grin before reaching over her, your necklace grazing her shoulder, and tapping the camera.
“Hi sweeties! It’s Riffle here, and I’m joined by my lovely friend.” Speaking to the camera casually, you drape your arms over the back of her chair. “Would you mind introducing yourself, love?”
She introduces herself as Marlie, a rustblood who didn’t feel confident in herself until she saw your videos, with a tragic backstory of losing her lusus to match. You close your eyes and grin sweetly, a mask for your disdain. You’ve heard this story countless times now, and it was beginning to get old.
Nevertheless, you start her makeup when she’s done. A bit of concealer here, a bit of blush, some dramatic eyeliner...a process you’ve done nightly, for sweeps on end, which you’ve somehow made into a brand. You’re so used to it that the extra weight on your wrists barely bothers you. You catch Marlie’s reflection in the mirror. She’s beaming.
Her look doesn’t take long; you’re a professional, after all. “What do you think?” you ask. She tells you he looks beautiful, that she’s so glad to have met you, that she’s proud of how far she’s come. It’s an important part of the script to you, filling you with the pride that any other artist feels, a pride that you desperately need.
“A finishing touch!” you cheer, reaching over her with your hand on her shoulder for support. You grab a necklace off of your vanity, a decent silver one. Gently, you wrap it around her neck, fiddling with the clasp in the back. It’s a perfect excuse to unsheathe one of your blades.
You trace her one of her carotids with the blade, plunging it in before her smile even has a chance to fall. With a grin, you yank the blade back and watch as her blood, red and glistening, spurts out. Marlie’s corpse falls unceremoniously, landing on the floor in a heap. Her blood pools out onto the floor and her eyes are wide with shock, but she’s still grinning. You’re careful to move the rug- you don’t want it marred by an unsightly red stain. The blood that landed on the vanity can be cleaned, at the very least.
“Thanks for tuning in!” You say to no one in particular, yet still grinning at the camera. It was never even turned on.
