As she washed the blood from her hands, she finally realised the full extent of what she had done.  She regarded his body as it lay limp on top of the now blood soaked wooden table and dared it to move.  But it didn’t, couldn’t.  The now sliced open chest was still.  She had finally done it, and now it was over.  She had told him often enough that he would be hers, had promised time and time again, though he had never believed it.  But as she watched his heart lying still, hers at last, she smiled, victorious.