HM Mafia Round #5 SERIAL KILL: Cutting In

Tatyana Nicoli smiled softly to herself.


After exploring the house, looking for likely rooms to film her next great project, Tatyana found herself in a grand ballroom. Ornately framed stained glass windows with images of climbing roses stretched from the floor up to the domed, gold leaf ceiling in a splendor of warm light. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, dripping with crystals and holding hundreds of candles ready to be lit. A balcony wrapped around the entire north half of the room with winding stair cases leading up on either side.

Though the ceiling was dark now, and the balcony hardly visible at all, with enough lighting and a solid camera crew, this room would be the ideal place for a sweeping romantic scene. It was perfection; it was exactly what she had been waiting for all this time.


The killer cursed softly and continued to struggle with the many cables wrapped in tangles at the top of the balcony. Giving a thick one a sharp tug, the killer grinned as the chandelier shook slightly.

Pulling out a knife, the killer waited, silently, eagerly, in the blackness.

“Come on, just a little closer. Come on.”


Tatyana stepped forward and caught her reflection in the stained glass. One hundred Tatyanas stared back at her, opened mouthed and in awe at the beauty that surrounded her. She giggled joyfully at the sight, innocent for just that moment, all pretence of guilt and shame and weariness stripped away. She twirled once, exhilarated by this feeling, and then again, round and round, swirling around the ballroom.

Coming closer and closer to the chandelier.


The crash was spectacular. Fragments of glass flew out in all directions with a deafening sound as the chandelier came down right on Tatyana’s head. It was explosive and strangely beautiful, the mess of crystal and the blood that spread out like a brilliant red carpet in the center of the ballroom, with the broken chandelier spiking through the corpse like a blossom springing from the ground.


The killer expected the sudden rush of cold at the woman’s death, but this time with it came a shocked fury that washed over the killer in a freezing wave of malice so powerful and alien that the killer had to grip the banister tightly for support to keep from falling. Finally the feeling passed, and the killer fled, leaving behind only the indentations in the soft wood of the banister.