“Rose, could you PLEASE sit up straight and stop moving!” barked Sarah as she moved pen across paper, sketching the nude form of her wife of nearly 20 years. Sarah sighed. A skilled artist, she excelled in all mediums, but preferred the simplicity of pen and ink sketching. And while she had worked with perhaps hundreds of models over the years, Sarah’s favorite subject remained her beautiful wife. But what is with Rose today, Sarah silently fumed…she can barely sit still.

Rose, for her part, remained mostly silent. She was far too drained at this point to do little more than wheeze in response to Sarah’s familiar complaint.

Later, when Rose’s head sagged forward, chin coming to rest between her ample breasts, guilt flooded Sarah. She had, after all, kept Rose in that chair for well over an hour under hot lights. “Rose, honey,” Sarah apologized, “I’m sorry I snapped at you. But you know how difficult it is to get the image I’m after when you move. I’m almost finished. Just one last detail.”

Reaching to a table beside her, Sarah picked up a Micron pen—red. Her hand moving deftly across the drawing pad, she drew a wide gash across the length of Rose’s neck. Sarah followed this with generous amounts of the crimson liquid, trailing downward and across almost the whole of Rose’s figure.

Sarah gazed upon the completed work, justifiably proud. “Perfect,” she declared. “The touches of red really make it pop!”

A nearby sound drew her attention. Rose’s lifeless body had crumpled to the floor. Sarah gazed upon her former love and was momentarily consumed with genuine regret. So many good years, she remembered wistfully.

After a time, Sarah returned her attention to the pad on her lap. Smiling, she announced, “I’ll call this one…adulteress.”