Behold:
A box.
That’s a nice box, you might say.
Well, though it may appear pleasing it is not the box that matters; what matters is what’s inside that box.
Is it something you hold near and dear to you? Something of sentimental value that means so much to you that you choose to separate it from prying eyes?
Or is it perhaps something you wish to keep locked up, far away from yourself and any others who may be reminded of what it is or represents at its sight.
Something more sinister.
Something that could be deadly in the possession of the wrong, or right, person.
I keep many things in boxes, I must admit. It’s just part of my job.
With my drapes, I keep my patients in a box. The layers of blue material protects them from outside invaders that may try to creep in during surgery.
The instruments with which I perform surgery with all must be stored within kit pans, and they must stay under sterile conditions or else they could cause an infection.
And postoperatively I send my patients to a new box that will house them during their recovery.
I know boxes, and I know how to open them.
And I’d like to get inside your box, Narcissa.
You’re a peculiar specimen, one that is out there for everyone to see as a fashion icon, but at the same time so very transparent in the way you weave in and out of the shadows.
Someone so visible, yet so invisible.
I think you hide something in your box that could get me a lot of credits from the right person.
So what’s inside it?
Is it a needle and thread in case a wardrobe needs stitching in a fix?
No, someone of your status would delegate that duty to a grunt worker.
Perhaps the diamond ring Zeus proposed to you with?
Keeping it tucked away, a harsh reminder of a past that led to your present predicament. Maybe.
I think I know what’s in your box.
A femme fatale like you only needs one thing to take out and use at critical moments—
Whether on the red carpet—
Or in a pinch down a dark alley in the Bleak.
You keep those killer high heels in your box.
The ones with the red bottoms.
The ones that every other girl in Arcadia would die for to just be able wear them once.
Because you know how to wear them, and how to use them.
Whether you pair them with the right dress and jewelry to attract a certain someone, or stick those long, pointy heels into your target’s vulnerable spot, one things for sure:
You’re a killer.
You keep death in that box, and at Pandora’s Box I’m going to cut you open and expose you as the killer you are…
Because it turns out a box cutter is just what the doctor ordered.
Narcissa Balenciaga, the doctor will see you now.