His blow connects, but she just takes it, feels the side of her face sting under the slap, bears down more heavily on his neck in return. Next thing she knows he's moving. He's moving strangely. Not bucking her off, but writhing, his entire body narrowing. Her grip on his neck is rapidly fading leaving her hands closed on empty clothes. She stares down at him incredulously. What the actual fuck is going on?

Villanelle has never fought a man who could turn into a snake before, she can, perhaps, be forgiven her momentary inability to compute. She scrambles away, a shiver running through her body - an unexpected wave of revulsion. There is something seriously wrong with this man, not least the whole snake thing.

She is, however, nothing if not resourceful, and as his clothes empty out beneath her, her hand is pressed into the hard shape of the broken mask, a long, smooth piece that fits into her palm just like a knife. She grips her raw knuckles around it, rallying. A snake he may be, but a snake can die just as easily as a man.

She can't give him time to escape, there are enough clothes strewn about that he could wriggle into a dark hole and get free. She needs to end this, and with that thought in mind, she leaps for whatever part of him she can reach, the shard in her hand.