Cold as the cold in the winter. She was cold as the cold in December.
Ice heart, white mink, white gold, white Max Mara stilettos, white beret.
She was the white plague… A slow death!
He walked up and asked her, “what’s your name?”
“Snow,” she said it low.
“I didn’t hear you.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
“So cold,” he walked away.
White wine – she sipped away, watching the snow fall.
She was a blizzard from hell– waiting to kill her next kill.
Tonight, she would paint this white room red…
He was black, but he seemed white. Skiing on the Alps. They were at a ski resort on Mont Blanc.
She arrived last night. He paid for her first class flight, her all white regalia, and the Bvlgari ice.
The itinerary was for a week. She was on a different schedule. She glanced at the Patek Philippe. She was white hot because he was a second too late.
They ate lobster, pasta, and shrimp when he finally arrived to their dinner date.
“I would like to see your eyes…” he started. “Take off of your shades.”
He was out of his brains if he thought that she was coming out of her all white Celine frames.
“Ha!” She mocked.
At her forwardness, he was shocked.
At his blanc style, she was not impressed. His insipid remarks had no zest.
“You are a delight.” He said.
She rolled her eyes, “no… I’m the Grim reaper, in all white!”
His fork was stuck on the tip of his lip. He was dismayed by her insolence.
She was delighted by his shock.
Again, she glanced at the Patek Philippe watch. Now was the time to rewind this lame’s clock.
No time to explain, she stood pulled the all white Glock from her all white Miu Miu bag and blew out his brains.
White matter splattered– on her white mink.
A statement made… cash in the bank!
“Femme Fatale!” is what she whispered.
On the way out, she glanced over her shoulder, and thought that she saw the chocolate assassin lurking in the distance. When she looked again he was missing…