French
The man ran and ran. The Russian museum was his trap. He didn’t know how he got there. English was following him. She was a beast. When he first met her, she was beautiful. She was his first love. He couldn’t find it in him to kill her. She claimed to be royalty. The French man ran faster. How could English do this to him? He never learned her real name; he just called her English. He stopped. A huge claw was sticking out of his abdomen. She stabbed him. She never loved him. What did her name mean? He dropped to the floor with a silent tear. His death brought a wide smile on English's gorgeous face. She had returned to her human form. All the noise had brought a Russian museum guard to the scene. Her looks distracted him from the bloody mess of the dead French man.
“Who are you? What is your name?” asked the guard.
“Just call me French, hon.”
