Merry Christmas, Zoey :)
Clove tears his chest apart with her bare fingers, digging her fingernails into his nipples and ripping them off with a quick jerk. He's screaming, and she's straddling him, barely making any attempt to keep his arms down, because she knows that he's in too much pain to clearly think of an offensive attack. She also knows that he's feeling too betrayed to do much (she knows him).
"You told me to give them a good show, didn't you?" Clove laughed into his ear, flipping her knife twice before plunging it into his eardrum. "I'm giving them a good show, aren't I?" It's phrased more as a statement than a question. Clove knows what will make the crowds go absolutely wild.
She drags her knife across his eyeballs, scraping it just so the uppermost layer comes off like grape skin. His eyes would make an interesting wine, she thinks, cleaning her knife on the grass.
"You once told me I wasn't very creative," she said with a smile. "Well. Head, shoulders, knees, and toes."
Clove takes out two small knives from her belt and puts them against each other in an x. She speaks more loudly, since he's screaming over her words. "You never really understood scissoring; you'd plunge right in, always. Don't worry. I'll take care of you."
She has a penchant for monologuing, but this time it will not undo her. Rather, it'll undo him.
Her makeshift pair of scissors cuts clumsily across his midsection and as he rolls onto his side, finally silent. A cannon booms and she sighs, disappointed. She hadn't even gotten to the good bit.