Giselle's favorite part about the dress was the full skirt. The halter neckline and empire waist moved seamlessly into a soft, flowing skirt that hit just at the knee. It was white with a beautiful black floral design and the lining had an extra two inches of stiff black tulle that made the skirt sway when she walked. Her second favorite part was the black ribbon that ran across the front of the dress at the high waist, finished with a bow off to the left side. She had found the dress at a thrift store and had to have it. She hadn't planned on wearing it to her own wedding, but when the morning came and her dress still hadn't arrived she wasn't really left with a whole lot of options. It fit perfectly, of course it fit perfectly, it was her wedding dress. It was also she dress she wore the day her husband died. She hadn't planned on that happening either. There were a lot of things she hadn't planned for. Like marrying her best friend and then being forced to watch him die without even being able to hold him, comfort him, in the same day. She walked to the meeting place, her navy blue shoes in one hand, a navy blue silk drawstring handbag in the other, and she thought about how she would use the money to exact her revenge. With all that money, the money she would get from the object in the small bag, she could destroy entire worlds, the way hers had been destroyed. With all that money, nothing could stop her.
When Giselle opened the letter with her instructions she wondered briefly if she could do it, if she could actually kill someone. Then she read the name of her target again, and it all fell into place in her head, and she didn't doubt for a moment that she could kill this person, and gladly. One name to check off of her list. She hadn't even realized she had made a list until she started checking them off. The first death was an accident, he shouldn't have tried to protect the woman. That was his fault, and she was almost surprised to find that she felt no remorse for taking his life. Almost. She got over it quickly.
She hadn't meant to wear the dress when she went to collect that night, but after she had showered it was the first thing she grabbed when she reached into her closet. She automatically picked out the shoes and handbag without thinking, and only regretted it when she had been walking for almost an hour. She wanted to walk though, to clear her head. She had been walking aimlessly it seemed, trying to talk herself out of it, and then talking herself back into it. Then she was ringing the doorbell of the tiny little cottage, and a man was answering the door and immediately backing away and she hadn't even realized she was pointing the gun at him until they were inside and a dog was barking and the woman was screaming and then a shot rang out.
Giselle stared at the spot in front of her where the man had been standing, only now it was the wall she was staring at because the man had crumpled to the ground in front of her. She blinked and looked around, taking in her surroundings. The dog had stopped barking and was now growling at her, its hackles raised, head low, keeping its distance. She ignored it and instead looked at the woman. She was on the floor, scratching at the wall behind her, sobbing relentlessly. Giselle couldn't help but think how pathetic she looked, and she felt no sympathy for her. She told her to stand and when she wouldn't, Giselle forced her to. She told her to look her in the eye and when she wouldn't, Giselle took her face in one hand and forced her to. Was she going to kill her? Giselle thought for a moment, her brow furrowing, and her mouth pouting slightly. Then the woman said something almost inaudibly, and it wasn't until she had already pulled the trigger that Giselle really heard her. You look like him. In her last moments, the woman really thought that mentioning Giselle's late husband, the man she had conspired to kill in front of his wife, was actually going to save her life. Giselle sighed, staring at a different wall where a person had also once been, then she turned to the dog who was still growling low and steady behind her. She looked her in the eye, and knelt down so they were level with one another. The dog, a short haired mutt with wild brindle coloring and one blue eye, stopped growling and started whining. Giselle stared at her curiously, and the dog straightened up and started wagging its tail, and Giselle couldn't keep from laughing. She held out a closed hand and the dog approached, sniffed, and then licked the hand. She scratched behind the dogs ears a moment before searching the woman for the object she had been instructed to find. When she did find it, she tucked it away in the small blue handbag with the gun and she left the cottage. She made her way to the meeting place, the dog keeping pace with her in a happy trot. When she stopped for a moment to rest and take her shoes off the dog stopped with her and sat by her side, and Giselle scratched her head some more. Then she heard a jingling sound, and looked to see the dog was wearing a collar with a tag on it. She frowned, trying to make out the words in the moonlight, then finally she saw it. A phone number to call, and a name. Tesla. Giselle almost broke down sobbing when she saw it, immediately seeing in her mind the gray marble slab. Henry Tesla Jones. The name on her late husband's gravestone. Of course the dog would share a name with her husband. It hadn't even tried to protect its owners, now that Giselle thought about it. Just stood there growling, and it hadn't even sounded like a warning to Giselle. When they walked the dog stayed on the outside of the path, keeping Giselle on the inside, like her husband used to do, and Giselle smiled at the comparison. So she had ticked off two names from her list, acquired the object, and apparently also acquired a dog. Not bad really, for a days work. The pair made their way through the dark night, Tesla with her tag jangling and her happy trot, and Giselle with her shoes in one hand, wearing her favorite dress, and a gun in her pretty silk handbag.