The way her eyes are smiling. It's disgusting, unbearable. The whole process is hard too watch.
The way her hands work. She is familiar with this. She has done it before.
The whole scene plays out silently, like a television on mute, embellished only by tiny whispers of breath.
Chilly tears. The brush of strangely warm fingers across a cheek. Murmurs, a language not recognized, rythmic and piercing.
The dagger is jagged, yet gorgeous. Sparkling emeralds, like hopeful eyes, rest in its hilt.
It is very, very, sharp.