Rhea Kade sat at the grand piano in the center of her stage. Her long fingers danced over the keys of the venerable instrument, eliciting such sweet sounds her body couldn’t help but quiver in response. She hummed in tune as her fingers flowed across the keys, playing a song she wrote herself named, “The Soliloquy of the Virtuoso.” It embodied everything she stood for and every painstaking moment of adding beauty to this world. Every drop of blood she split, and the pain she endured. Beauty that clearly everyone around her failed to appreciate. Even though she spent the last fifteen years of her life trying to spread it to the world to replace the prevailing ugliness.

It was that ugliness that threatened to consume her even now. Which it had when it took her innocence from her. That same ugliness that started with her family, she stamped out. She would be the shining light in the darkness, rescuing those who were beyond help. None would suffer her fate, or the horrors she endured.

“Rhea Kade, this is the police. We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up.” A male voice sounded through an intercom, breaking through her music. A design choice that she had fully accounted for. This moment had been in the making for years now and finally, her time was up, and she could give her last performance.

Her fingers glided across the piano keys, strumming them with all the love in her heart. But the song was slowing, another planned break, enough time given to make her final adjustments. The music, mirroring a failing heart, slowed and deepened as her left hand slowed. Her other hand reached up and brushed aside a stray strand of honey brown hair, tucking it back behind her ear, which was pierced by a row of golden hoops twisted with rose gold. Electric purple fingernails glimmered in the spotlight of her stage, causing the golden trim on the tips of her fingers to shine, and her violet dress to scintillate with the light dusting of gold.

Rhea’s blood-red lips swept up into a wide smile as the distant booms of doors getting blown off their hinges melded with the song that filled the air.She flicked the switches built into the side of the piano before her hand came back to rest on the keys. Every one of them was now connected to the fireworks display scattered around the building and would be utilized in the performance. “Oh, my dearest detective. I hope you enjoy my show.” Rhea’s words came out as a honeyed purr. Only Detective Carlson understood her and her artistic vision. So this show will be as much a declaration of love as it was a farewell.

Her finger passed over the first needed key, and the first switch tripped. The sprinklers turned on, misting the room in lavender. It was her favorite scent; its purity soothed her, and it would serve to ehance the coming play. With a flick of her wrists the lights flicked on to illuminate each theater door, awaiting the stars of the show.

Rhea’s gaze swept through the large chamber, eying the hundreds of chairs. Some of them held art pieces, bound to the chair, forced to watch her show unfold. The others held boxes clad in that same velvet fabric as the chairs shrouding them in the darkness. She excitedly awaited the outcome after weeks of diligent preparation.

The Soliloquy faded into near silence as the sound of boots filled the air and echoed through the room, acting as a chorus to her dying song. They rang like a choir of angels, marching to take her from this ugly world. Her heart raced and a soft chuckle escaped from her lips, twisting into the lavender soaked air.

With a flick of her wrist, another note played and the muffled screams of her newest art collection filled the air as the red curtain rose, revealing the wall behind it. Among the walls were dozens of men with ugly minds and souls. Their arms were spread wide and their hands nailed down to the wood behind them. Blood dripped down the wall, standing in stark contrast to the brilliant teal, illuminated by the countless spotlights bringing them into focus.

They struggled against the onyx black chains as blood flowed to the ground, painting a macabre painting as it went. They suffered for days with their sins here, soon to be transformed into something beautiful.

Her soliloquy was coming to its end as her fingers danced across the last few notes. The flashlights of the police cut through the dark air of her stage room like a knife, exposing the swirling patterns of teal, rose, and ivory that adorned the four walls of her stage. Each specially selected and carefully painted over months to have the utmost effect on the coming performance.

When the last note played, the first police officer set foot in the theater. The sound of the footsteps melded with the dying tone. Switches flipped, stage ready—showtime. Rhea reached up and clasped the lid of the piano bringing it. the sound of the wooden lid closing marked the start of the end.

She could see it now, the beauty of her ultimate piece. Oh, she was so excited. A wave of police officers flooded the theater, running past chairs. Their flashlights acted like mini spotlights, illuminating many of her new art pieces in the stands. Excitement coursed through her veins, passion sang through her very soul as she took a shaky breath. Her art would be beauty incarnate. The police who were coming to arrest her would serve as the linchpin to her work and her magnum opus.

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Once upon a time, she held them as a paragon of justice and purity. But now, she knew they were no different from those she hunted. Tonight, she would cleanse them of that ugliness that had seeped into their souls. The sounds of them shouting met the music playing in her head. It overwhelmed her. Possessed her even. The curtain was rising, and now it was time to blossom.

She dug her fingernails into the wood of the piano, feeling the grains against her fingertips one last time. Her emerald eyes shot up towards the entryway of the theater, and there she saw the winter-kissed blue eyes of her beloved detective. This show was as much for him as it was for her away to express her gratitude, as well as her love, in the only way that she knew how.

The police were nearing her. With hardly contained glee, she reached down towards her waist. In one smooth movement, she grabbed her paintbrush and flourished it high into the air as the first explosion shook her stage. Dozens of brilliant red, violet, and green bursts filled the air when the seating-section traps exploded.

Gunshots rang out as the sudden change surprised the police, many twisting into new displays of art as the searing heart cleansed them of their inaction. A twisted laugh left her lips, buried by the beautiful symphony of screams and explosions.

“One!” she called out as she flourished her paintbrush at the nearest officer. It barked as a bullet left its chamber and soared like a bird, slamming through the black visor. Brain and blood painted her stage as his body fell to the side.

“Two!” Another bark filled the air as more explosions rang out. All the art pieces that clung to the wall rained down blood and viscera, painting the teal walls red. Their bodies twisting and melting into cleansing them of thier sins.

“Three!” More explosions ripped through the air. This time it was reds, greens, and blues mixed with glitter that clogged everything it touched. With another bark, her paintbrush made the nearby police officer’s head explode in a gory shower, merging with the colors in the air.

Rhea laughed as the stench of blood, sweat, and fear reached her nose. Her heart raced as her performance was going exactly as planned. She laughed and laughed some more. She could feel every explosion and relished every time her art became something more. This was her calling. The world was filled with vile ugliness and inaction every day. It broke her heart. But not today. Today, the world glimpsed its potential beauty, its perfection.

Her emerald eyes settled down onto the main walkway of her stage and met the winter-kissed blue eyes of her most beloved detective once more. He had made it through, as she had planned. She expected nothing less from him. With a steady hand, she brought her paintbrush to bear, choosing a spot that she knew would grievously wound him, but not kill him. No, he would not become an art piece. He would live, as he had earned that much.

“Four!” She called out her final number as the curtain fell around her. All her art was coming together, and this was the last act. Rhea waited for a split second as the detective to level his gun towards her. She wanted to scream and shout towards him, almost begging him to hurry. With a twitch of her finger, her paintbrush coughed and sent a slug flying towards him, and he did the same.

Her world spun as his bullet slammed into her chest. Blood blossomed around her like a lotus flower as she fell from her piano. As she fell, time appeared to freeze, with her final action filling her sight. Blood dripped from the ceiling, and the screams of the dying rang in her ears.

This was the moment she was craving. Her heart swelled with joy as she fell. Her vision was darkening around the edges and creeping inwards. Death’s icy chill seeped into her body as the control of her limbs left her.

She slammed into the ground and her jaw worked, but no words came out. Only the rattling breath of the newly deceased. How badly she wanted to thank the detective for this grand act. Despite knowing she didn’t need to, she felt grateful. Her life of suffering had ended. She had helped so many of those sick, ugly people, and now she could rest easy. From her father, where her passion for art and justice started, to this very moment. Everyone she could reach, she made beautiful. In the end, though, she knew deep down this was always going to be the outcome of her obsession. But now the price was paid. The art was finished, and now she could rest.

A wet gurgling chuckle bubbled through the blood that dripped from her lips before a last sigh escaped, taking her life with it. Darkness consumed her vision as the void claimed her now free soul, and she fell, plummeting into the void like an ocean. With her mission complete, she felt at peace as she sank into the depths of eternity, caught on the current of time untold.

Time meant nothing as she sank. Was it days that passed? Months? Years? She didn’t know. There was no reference. Only the cold ocean of the void that lapped at the corners of her soul. There was no beauty here. Only darkness. There were no words here, only silence. But it didn’t matter, because she was fading with every passing second. Until, at least, a set of glowing words appeared on a blank white canvas.

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