The knife glinted, silver and bright against his skin. His flesh offered little resistance as the knife slid lovingly across his cheek, the silver blade dyed a metallic red with his blood. No sound escaped his lips as the knife continued its path over his body but I did not care, I didn't need him to scream, that wasn't my goal. He couldn't be allowed to forgive me and now, his ski painted with his beautiful blood, he would not forgive me. I loved the sight of him, his wounds so exquisite and unforgivable. I stared at his blood for I could not look at his eyes, still filled with nothing but affection, pity and forgiveness.