She paints a pretty picture, but this story has a twist, her paintbrush is a razor and her cavas is her wrist. She paints her pretty picture in a colour that’s blood red, while using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead. Her pretty picture fading, quite slowly on her arm, the blood is not racing trough her, she can no langer do harm. She painted her pretty picture, but her picture had a twist you see her mind was a razor and her heart was her wrist.