And after spending a night in his bed, she felt a little part of herself ascend, especially waking up to the familiar sight of his chainsaw that he always kept on his nightstand.

Two weeks later—at most—she found that nothing else had pleased her more than the vibration in his chest, shaking her walls until they came crashing down. When he was away tending to the trees, she was left at home, tending to her own forest down below. Liz hummed, sending shivers down her spine and into her fingertips as wetness gathered in just a single spot.

Patty had been nowhere to be found in the meantime, but Liz was sure that her cousin was enjoying the treasure chests that she found in the elderly's homes. Liz faintly remembered how her cousin, who was close enough to be called a sister, had been found in the lumberjack's living room, rubbing a lamp that she named Gertrude over her depths. And how the armchair hadn't been sat in ever since a dark stain had appeared on the cushion.

Somethings were just better left unknown.

In the day that followed, Liz came to experiment with other things after her self-induced high just wasn't enough to satisfy her needs. She heard her prize in the laundry room, the washing machine set on its highest cycle, for how else could the lumberjack clean off the forest grime. Without a thought of hesitation, she climbed onto the cube, settling herself down with her thighs spread apart.

But even that wasn't enough.

"Hey, what's wrong baby?" A gruff voice filled the air. "You've been… off."

"Just some stress, don't worry about it." Liz stole a glance at Genevieve, an excuse to look away from the lumberjack's worried face. "So are you going anywhere tomorrow?"

"Yeah, Genevieve stays home though. Think you can watch her for a while?"

"Your chainsaw? Not like she's going anywhere."

Oh how she was wrong. The moment Genevieve's future changed forever was when the lumberjack left for the weekend, leaving Liz alone with her fantasies. He was gone—now was the time. She cleaned her off first, wiping down the metal of the chainsaw as Liz had done so many times already for her weapons, smoothing down the work until it reflected her lust.

"Let's roar," Liz whispered, ripping the Genevieve's engine to life.

It sputtered at first, unused to a feminine hand. But then it evened out, rumbling, waiting for its work to begin. But it didn't come the way that anyone could have expected, feeling another source of wetness slide over the edge of the handle.

Yes, the devil had tempted her, and now she was paying the price.

Oh honey she has sinned, and her virtue was no longer her own to command for everything that Liz was had now belonged to Genevieve. The curse of the cousins had been strong for if Liz had been playing attention, she would have noticed Patty's own desires towards Ikea furniture, the same as Liz's lust for the willing chainsaw. She may have noticed how Patty hadn't returned home from her last raid in a while, and how she'd stopped going for the meatballs. But that was far from the thoughts in Liz's mind now.

With each pass of the vibrations from Genevieve, she felt a powerful spasm run through her body, arching her back as if she were the bridge to another fantasy- another world. No such machine should have possessed the power to make her buckle like the chainsaw did, and yet- she humped the slick metal and let their oils join in into one lube. It was riveting. It was just what she needed. Liz couldn't ask for anything more as Genevieve came to life under her- so different than the soft body of the lumberjack.

It was what she ever needed, a solid rock in the middle of her turmoil, something to soothe her aching soul with a massage that penetrated so much farther beneath her skin. Yes, it was different than man and flesh that she had indulged in for the last week or so, bless the kind man, but there was a thrill when heat and metal mixed, something similar to that when she shot a gun into her screaming victims and her wild nights she was so used to before.

Darling she was a raging fire and this was only fanning the flames.

But when the precious lump of a man returned home, Genevieve was back in place next to their bed stand and Liz had been locking away the oils, until her next night.

She couldn't lie to the man, for he did nothing wrong and he surely didn't deserve this heartbreak, but it was time to come clean, cleaner than his foreskin folds.

He stuttered at first, unable to speak as the love of his life appeared from the shadows of the bathroom with none other than his beloved Genevieve. Was he to be pleased that they were getting along better than he believed it could be? Or was this jealousy crawling up his neck waiting to steal his calm and snatch away his only peace?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, the lumberjack asked his woman cautiously, "Liz, what are you doing with Genevieve?"

She drew in a breath, her face looking as calm as it did during the first night they had met back when he first spilled apple juice on her jeans and marked himself for deletion. When she opened her eyes, they were just as sharp as the blades on his chainsaw. "Making my way downtown, off to steal your girl."

The chill of the night buried itself within his very bones, sticking out every which way as if he were being impaled by icicles rather than the harsh reality of his world. The pain was immediate, but it numbed him just as quickly as it sank. "Y- You don't mean Genevieve—"

"I do."

It sounded like wedding vows exchanged in a cemetery with the groundskeeper under the guise of the priest, as death would never do them part. Their fate sealed together into their next lives.

"Tell me, did you—did you ever love me? Or was it only for… for Genevieve?"

A jarring laugh pierced him this time as she threw her head back, her arm poised to her side hoisting up the very object they both had coveted. "Was that the question? If I did it all for Genevieve? Darling," she leaned back with her shoulders squared and her legs as shiny as the polish on the saw, "Don't make a fool of yourself. Everything was for me—not a thing belongs to anyone else."

And her heels clicked on her way out of their once upon a time, a fairy tale ending as it should have—in tragedy.

But the tale didn't end there.