
She was an exquisite painter. She made her living restoring Renaissance paintings for art museums. She travelled extensively because of her work. She was…highly intelligent, optimistic about the human condition. Usually consider it a sign of stupidity but with Irene it seemed…almost convincing. She was, to me, The Woman. To me, she preclipsed and predominated the whole of her gender. The only one I ever—

(Source: mottwilfred)

(Source: ignify)
“I’ve been dreaming about this moment for quite sometime. One year, six months, twenty-two days, to be exact. That’s when he killed her.”
“Irene.”

After he incapacitated her, he hung her upside down, slit her throat. Gravity and the last few beats of her heart drove every last ounce of blood from her body.