She steps out into the night. As is with nights like this, it is cold, eerie and uncomfortably silent. There’s not a soul in sight – living or dead. Nights like these are not meant to be ventured into anyway. And yet, here she is.
She has a list.
A fifty names at least, gathered over twenty years. A plan made and remade with such moving dedication to be brought to fruition on this glorious night. The list is special too. Kept so close to her heart, safe from the harm and damage the world is so intent on inflicting.
She starts walking. The litany begins: One list. Fifty names. A lifelong of purpose.
“It’s going to be a long and tedious night”, she whispers. “But, worth it. Always.”, the tiny voice responds. And so the hunt begins. The unfortunate fifty stupid enough to cross her path, so powerful at one point, now reduced to shark food, pulp or a horrific mess of muscle and bones. She lovingly drags each one back home.
“You are a work of art, for a work of art”, she croons to each one.
The job is done to her utmost satisfaction. It takes the whole night. Fifty isn’t such a small number, after all.
The sun rises. The Master walks in. There sits Mona Lisa – peacefully perched atop her carefully curated pile of what was once considered human. She smiles her smile. Yes, that one. The Master starts his work.
The human race is left to wonder, what could cause such mysterious joy?