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He takes the blade of the scalpel and presses it into my shoulder. I can feel my blood trickling down my arm.

    “Y’know red is my favourite colour... It looks so good on you,” he chuckles as I wince from the pain of the second incision.
    “So does a smile” he laughs harder as he steps away admiring his ‘artwork’
    “Do you want to see?”

    Tears spill slightly over my eyelids as he holds up a hand mirror to show me the bloodied smiley face on my shoulder.
    “Don't cry. It doesn't look bad. It's actually pretty cute” He continues to carve designs into my skin with the blade.

    When he finally finishes, he wheels a giant stand mirror in front of me. It’s roughly five feet tall with a golden frame. The bottom left corner has a piece missing, and there's a crack diagonally across the center.  It's dusty and tarnished but I can still clearly see myself, with blood dripping down my skin.

“Look how pretty you are now.  A genuine work of art,”  he coo’s in the way you might talk to a child.
   
As I get a better look at just what symbols he's etched into me, they began looking oddly familiar. The more I think about it, they're strangely similar to the marks on that girl they found last week. I remember seeing it on the news, they found her in a ditch just outside of town, posed with flowers in her hands almost like she was in a coffin, it certainly  wasn't that though, it was a shallow grave, in the dirt. A sad way to lie, with the words ‘doll’ and ‘beauty’ carved just below her collarbones. Yet another victim of the Dollface Killer.

Suddenly it hit me.
It's him. This man is
the Dollface Killer.
I'm screwed.

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