Her eyes flutter closed in pleasure at that gasp, at the sound of him giving up, of welcoming death. The thought is so alien to her, and she's already dead. Shouldn't she have a different perspective? Apparently not. She can't imagine lying down and letting it happen.

She drags the blade out just as slowly, then considers the body beneath her for a moment. Her blood is still pumping, the adrenaline rush of a kill thundering through her body. She wants to savour it, bottle it and keep it fresh, but she can't ignore the aches from the fight. The afterlife shouldn't have muscle fatigue, bruises and scrapes, but this one does and she'd like to find somewhere quiet to patch herself up.

She brings her blade up to his throat, blood trailing down her fingers and dropping onto his neck, a dotted line - cut here. She giggles.

"Any last words?"