When you get down to it everyone is just layers. Skin and flesh, muscle and sinew, organs, blood and bone. Skin covers tissue, tissue covers muscle. Muscle covers bone. Muscles. Sometimes they remind him of steak. Really what are people but steak and ribs and lamb chops? Sometimes it makes him laugh a little. He will imagine his targets as piñatas full of candy treats; slice them open and get the prize. How festive. It's a god damn fiesta, for fuck's sake. Blood and gore and bone and screaming.
She's innocent and pure, the phrase 'lily white' springs to mind. And she is the one thing he would kill for. She is the one thing he does kill for. If he could paint a picture of how he felt about her and capture the depth of his love for her, he would. If he could keep her safe and warm and joyful forever, he would do that too. If he only could. Sometimes her lips remind him of rose petals; that velvety softness, slick and smooth, supple. He will watch as she talks, his eyes only seeing those rose petal lips, twisting and forming words. Her mother's were slightly fuller. Her's are more doll like.
"Dad!"
He is brought back to the present, and she's giving him a withering look, folding her arms and frowning, her brown eyes glinting with annoyance.
"Sorry, honey, what did you say?"