The Painted Doll lingers by the girl's body, the faintest of amused smiles twisting the corners of her lips. "It's almost a shame," she says, more to herself than anything. "She was very pretty."
She doesn't expect The Scorpion to answer. They rarely talk, and when they do, their conversations are mostly one-sided. But he lets out a heavy sigh, and she peers up at him through her lashes.
"She is."
Is. Not was. Oh, The Painted Doll knows that she'll be back again and again, forced to live out her naive stupidity for the rest of eternity. The sinners never learn. But she can see it in The Scorpion's eyes. A sad longing, a thin veil of remorse.
She wants to scream, to reach out and shake him back to his senses. They've all played with souls countless times. There's no room for attachment. There's certainly no room for his attachment.
But she fights down the temptation, keeping her perfectly painted smile in place. "Oh, she'll be back."
Silence.
"You'll see her over and over again."
The Scorpion scowls, eyes dark and narrowed.
"You'll kill her over and over."
Without a word, he turns and stalks off, leaving a smirking Painted Doll watching him with delight.
Oh, she's never looked forward to a soul's punishment more than she does now.
"Enjoy," she whispers, kissing the girl's cheek before skipping off behind The Scorpion.