She tucked a stray strand of inky black hair behind her ear as she stared out the café window into the snow drifts. The flakes fell silently like a blanket being laid over a sleeping infant. Taking a deep breath, she took a sip of the bitter brew she held; the hazelnut flavoring tickling her nose. Her hands shook slightly as she glanced to see blood caking under her fingernails. Putting the cup down, she picked up a nearby napkin to try and clean them. She kicked the body lying at her feet. He should’ve known she preferred black coffee.
Do like how poetically one is lulled into the language of the story then, bam, the denouement.
Uh oh. Just let me say right off that I like milk in mine.
heh…It’s like a bad cup of coffee. The smell, the lure of imminent happiness, then bam, the wrong ingredients.