Queen Killer

Always dressed to the hilt.
That is until these sloths started rummaging around.

Where was her makeup.
Her cigarettes.
Her WIGS.

My god she needed her WIGS!

Those sods could do good from a bit of up keep and a little rouge.

Putting on her makeup now, what was left.
She hated going out to the killing fields without being presentable.

She could only find her Joan Crawford wig, it would have to do.
A nice sangoire pant suit.
Very high heels.
And of course her switch-blade.

A few sips of her Moet et Chandon.
Spoonful of caviar.
Last but not least, her ruby red lipstick.

Time for some good old fashioned morning killing.

The first one she came upon was a sorry specimen of what used to be a man.
Obviously never took much care before, and definitely did not afterward.
Poor chap.
Well no more of that now.

A quick stab to the temple with her beautiful Prada shoe, and the thing is now much more compliant to be transformed.

A touch of lashes here, rouge there, and of course a bit of plucking, and this one would be just fine to keep around.

She has perfected the art of submission makeovers, rarely if ever, getting even a spec of gore on her pristine outfit.

She knew that it wasn't just for her, but much more for them.
Wouldn't you want to look your best at your death.