Her rosy cheeks are her most defining feature. They look natural, too; no makeup, just her scarlet cheeks.
They get even redder as the knife slides into her skin, into her chest.
Their rosy hue doesn't fade as I bury her in the cemetery at night, her blonde curls becoming brown and stringy from the mud. Her cheeks are as red as the blood on my hands.
By the time she's become pale and blue from death setting in, I've found another red thing: a woman with scarlet hair, the shade of fire.
I clean my knife off, ready for my next kill.