She can paint a pretty picture but this story has a twist. Her paintbrush is a razor and her canvas is her wrist. She paints her pretty picture in a color thats bloody red. While using her sharp paintbrush, she ends up finally dead. Her pretty picture's fading quite slowly on her arm. The blood is not racing through her. She can no longer do harm. She painted her pretty picture but her picture had a twist. You see, her mind was the razor and her heart was just her wrist.