A/N: Total crack!fic born on MSN in response to Quinn's creepy crown collection and her even creepier scene in the mirror before Prom. There might be more to it eventually but right now it is just a one-shot.
Killer Queen
She saw her—so tall, tan, young and lovely—that glorified actress gliding across the stage with that crown on her head and something in Quinn yearned to have it. Needed to feel the crystallized jewels—teasing her through her plasma screen—under her fingertips no matter what the cost.
At first, Quinn rebelled against it—put her efforts into winning her own at junior prom—but when she watched her deepest desire being put to rest on Kurt's impeccably styled head, the need was just too great. Tonight was the night. Tonight she would become Prom Queen with a private coronation all of her own.
She stole away into the Hummel home in the dead of night, dressed in her powder blue prom grown because every queen must look the delicate wallflower to hide her true ruthlessness underneath. The tips of the shimmery fabric ghosted across the floor as she hummed along with the saints as they marched right in.
One stair and then another until she found herself standing outside Kurt's bedroom door. It creaked open and her eyes were drawn to her everything, glittering in the moonlight. On his desk—all glistening plastic and recycled pop tabs—it was the most beautiful sight the not-quite prom queen had ever seen.
Her heart beat wildly—Quinn Fabray had fallen in love.
She reached for her beloved and stopped just before the first touch. Her yearning was so strong and she wouldn't dare tarnish its beauty with her lust, not yet. She wasn't worthy of such an honor, she'd never be but Quinn hoped maybe her last act would prove her devotion just enough.
Kurt was snoring, softly, covered in a thin layer of face cream with a mask protecting his closed eyes. Her precious heart's desire calling her name—touching her deep inside with its magical splendor until she was gasping for breath—Quinn drew a knife from underneath her gown and struck with one fierce blow.
Knife clanging to the floor, her legs gave out and she tumbled to her knees, looking up at her crown with hands painted red. Desperately she crawled, and reached for her every desire, the touch of cool metal to her skin's warmth stole the breath from her very chest.
And then it was rightfully placed gently atop her head. Its weight calming the storm—the dark hunger deep inside—at least for a little while. Running her hands down her face—leaving streaks of red—she cradled the sphere-topped scepter to her chest.
Swaying softly—a gentle hum accompanying her through her first dance—she smiled.
Prom queen at last.