She is standing over a body, a bloody knife in her hand, and blood pooling all over her, the body is still moving at her feet and Killian is dying to help her, he has searched for her for so long, followed the body counts and the signs and the different MOs, and he is in love, she is perfect for him, she figured him out only a month after he had started tracking her and she had led him on a merry chase, sometimes leaving him a little present and sometimes a compliment on his kill.
"Need a hand, lass?", Killian asks from where he is propped up against the doorway of the warehouse she's been using.
"It took you long enough finding me, I thought you would miss this one too", she answers while completely enraptured by the breathing victim on the ground.
"Yes well your message came to me and it brought trouble too, I had to fend them off", he is untying his satchel where he keeps his most precious possession, his trade mark, and pulls his hook out of it, then drops the satchel on a dusty metal container before making his way towards her, his Swan.
She shifts a little to the right, an implicit call for him to stand at her left, above the man's chest, she knows him well, he thinks fondly.
"Neal Cassidy, 28, first class asshole and drunkard who stalked and hit a woman when she refused his advances"
Killian giggles, "You even chose them as I love them! Why, I knew you loved my courting!", Killian had altered his scenes sometimes, painting red flowers with blood, a swan next and even added a bow once on a body he had chosen as she liked them, to show her what he could do. The last gift had been three weeks ago, and a week later he had received an address.
The man is half passed out but when he hears Killian giggle he tries to look at him with an imploring look, and he look pathetic, he is gagged, bleeding through many cuts along his arms and Killian knows without having to look that a knife has been plunged through his ribs and damaged his spleen. By the amount of blood that is on the floor he knows, Neal hasn't much time left; time to work then.
"So how do you want to do this? We got at it as usual, or we mix our styles a bit?", Killian asks.
She steals your hook from your hand and winks at you, "I'll hook him and you sinker."
When the police will find the warehouse, four days later, there will be three victim, each one presenting the same wound, made by a hook, the coroner would say to the FBI, and filled with feathers, white swan feathers tainted by blood.