Rolla.(1878) - Henri Gervex (1852-1929)

Time to leave, unnoticed via the balcony and fire escape. It was an unforgettable night. No man could want more than to awake beside such beauty every morning, and yet, one man had decided not to.

Her name was Marilyn. I trailed her for several days awaiting my chance. With accidental pretence I knocked over her drink in a crowded bar. We chatted and laughed and drank. She knew a discreet hotel nearby. I was drained by her sublime adulterous passion.

Yes, she was married. She was an actress, she drank to excess, she slept around, she'd become a liability. Her husband was a rising politician vying for high office. Like the other Marilyn, she had become a political embarrassment that had to be neutralised.

The Organisation supplied photographs and pertinent details. I shuddered when I saw her photo, but not because of her celebrity; I had never killed a woman. I was a lover of women, a killer of men. Women were beyond my normal remit. But I could not refuse the contract.

Her slender neck snapped like a twig, severing the spinal cord. My consolation was that she died happy, in the throes of orgasm. She would have felt nothing, her life snuffed out like a candle, never again to illuminate the silver screen nor rekindle the embers of a man's fire. I felt remorse; the world was an uglier place without her beauty. I hoped to be favoured with her husband's contract one day.