Carnations Were Not the Smell of Death. They Were the Smell of Desire

A static marble woman in a graveyard. With a strangely expressive face. The fascination grows as she follows him home with her eyes. His heart beating fast, a slight pain in his chest, Konrad ran headlong, Slipping on small patches of early-morning Frost that had formed in the shadows of the tombs ... The statue had moved since yesterday all right. Her ankles were together, knees slightly open, Reclining like an odalisque in a sultan's tent who's Bested his many wives and concubines to reign supreme. Swathed along her arms and wrists and wrapped about her neck were Strands of antique jewellery, Pearls and emeralds set in platinum and gold. On her fingers were diamond and emerald rings. The stones glinted in the sun, Although the metal was tarnished, As if it had been buried underground for a long time. As he constantly goes back to her, The statue slowly turns into a goddess. The first signs were almost Invisible, but they were there - she moved. They learn to communicate with the flowers' smells. His evil plan slowly emerges through vanilla scent; he trains her. One night, everything falls into place: The statue eliminates its mortal rival. Its mortal rival. Love enters reality. And a new bloodbath happens. The joy of love dies right away, As he stands alone in front of her, soaked in the blood of his lover.