O the death of a jezebel

Same old story. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy has homicidal thoughts towards girl and saws her in half. He crochets her long blonde hair into a cosy rug for the living room floor and her skin becomes a fabulous beige lampshade. Though the girl is not particularly large - she sustains his appetite for weeks. He liked eating her smile the most.
After that meeting he was entirely sure if blondes had more fun but they definitely tasted saltier.

Her hair was mousy brown and her glasses were too large for her face - the kind that, no matter how many times she pushed them back, always seemed permanently perched upon the end of her nose. She got embarrassed whenever she laughed - mostly because of the snorting. But to him she was perfect.
He would get lost in her eyes, periodically starting a conversation about science so she would ramble on and allow him to get lost in her sugar sweet voice. The thirst for blood was forever quelled in her presence - yet the monster unleashed whenever she was gone.She softened him - not purposefully - he just let himself be weakened by her. And. And. And. He wasn't really sure why either. She was not conventionally beautiful but there was something about her that just ... calmed him. Any other woman compared was a whore in his eyes. That's the way they displayed themselves - that's the way he would treat them.
Sauntering over to the bar in a miniskirt that bared her milky white thighs and her bulging cleavage - the red head eyed him up suspiciously. Delving into her handbag with her perfectly manicured hand - he instinctively leant over witha lit match.
'Fucking whore!' screamed his thoughts.
He smiled sweetly as she puffed away on her cigarette. adn shot him a sideway glance. She smirked as he asked, 'So what's your poison,sweetheart?,' with a disarming wink. Four weeks later her brain would still be in the compost heap, worms for a tongue and rats for eyes. O the resting place for a jezebel.