Disclaimer: I Own Nothing.
Written for the getting around challenge.
The first time he sees her, she's wearing a white dress and has blood dripping from her fingertips. Her pale face lit with a wicked grin, her dark eyes burning with a spark of insanity.
A man in his late thirties or early forties lays in a pool of his own blood. Barty doesn't know this man nor does he feel any sympathy for him.
No, the only thing he feels is curiosity for this beautiful woman in front him.
Years later he'd curse the day he'd met her. He'd hate himself for loving her and going to her whenever she snapped her fingers.