A decadent smile crossed his face as he witnessed Lynn slip into something less comfortable, something he had sent to her. With awkward angling arms, she diligently tightened the menacing laces at her back with a grimace, cinching the lungs to half capacity. Those lacey frilled teeth of the corset bit into her pale flesh without mercy, and slight irritated blotches appeared around the edges, surfacing in protest; however, Frank didn't see them, perched, as he was, on a tree branch just outside the window.
Finished, the woman-child admired her new figure in an antique full-length mirror, stately standing on clawed oak feet in the darkest corner of her room. Breathing wasn't easy, but the curves of that waist and bust seemed to trivialize the lack of oxygen. She crossed the room, taking noble and graceful steps to her marbled vanity. Before sitting, she withdrew an orchid from a simple bouquet, and placed it behind her ear.
She opened a drawer, procuring stationary and ink, and began to scribe to him a letter, the letter that would explain everything. He smiled in amusement, anticipating the surprised look that would light his world when she answered the door and saw him there.
When she brought the gun to her head, he screamed. . . but the bullet effectively silenced his objection.