Chapter 5. Taming The Killer

I took a few week to get her to completely trust me completely. It took some work to make her understand what being trans is, because ... well she is French. But for once in my life, I found someone ... I could trust.

She would tell me how her father would sometime touch her, I refused to tell her how they brought back memories of when my father did, but I was there only for her. And you just don't talk about your own problems when trying to console someone. I may have a thing for decapitated heads, but it wasn't like I didn't have a heart.

I just wondered, how long would she poison me.

"Anna sweetheart?"

"What do you want."

"I'd like to do the cooking."

"I'm just glad I have a home."

In a way I could finally love again, even if someday she may poison me. I found that, despite my refusal to admit feeling sorry her on that night all those years ago, I found myself crying true tears of joy. I no longer failed my first best friend.

If only Anna-Marie knew.

The thing about dating a parent killer, particularly a young one younger than your own at nineteen, you need to treat them with kid gloves. After all they aren't fully adult; you don't want to piss them off, and you also got to be firmly gentle with them. Being someone who had been part of a slightly upper crust family, I came with a certain level of an ability to read. On the hand with her, her family was poor. She only managed to avoid decapitation by matter of luck, the jury in that nation was so awestruck about the case they had to spare her life. A few centuries earlier and she would have hung by the neck instead.

Unfortunately other girls her age were not so lucky.

Most of them got the chop. There was one lady who was just a little older, twenty two a the most. She was unfaithful to her husband (well considered Anna-Marie's experience with men, I couldn't possibly imagine why), but eventually she would eventually go on to stab her husband to death. Unfortunately that country didn't seem to make the distinction between serial killers and crimes out of petty spousal revenge.

So they put her head on a stick, waved it across in the air, and then burned that body to toast in an oven that can burn metal. So Anna-Marie was once again in a state of shock from losing her personal friends.

I guess killers make great bed mates.