In one room, champagne spilled onto velvet sofas, pearls lined flawless collar bones. A quiet murmur of ecstasy rang across the crowd of people, all perfectly at ease in luxury. The women were lean, men chiseled; the concoction of society built into one fluid momentum as they sat in joy.

In another room a funeral was laid out. The attendees were all wearing untailored black suits and dresses, and whispered infrequently as they partook in the senseless ceremony that occurred after a death. Each person held a single flower in their hand, a red rose, and some held up handkerchiefs. It was a grievous affair and altogether an unpleasant one. No one dared speak too loudly for fear of waking the beloved dead.

The only thing these two groups had in common were that they were both holding a gathering due to the sudden death of Beatrix Morse, and that they both were in agreement that she was in fact gone.
    Fortunately (or perhaps not) she was still very much alive, and slightly embarrassed that she had almost been caught. As she snuck into the party on the left side of the building, someone from the right caught sight of the back of her heel as it was swept behind a doorway. She took a sharp intake of breath and quickly recovered by heading for the main corridor.
Within these two rooms she had one job; to kill everyone on one side and make it to the other side quick enough to stir up a real party. Unluckily enough, it was the room full of  “mourners” whom she had to bring an end to. And she had no idea why, no, the boss wouldn’t tell her that. But she didn’t mind. They’d tried to kill her plenty of times, mostly as a child when they were afraid of her ‘special’ talents. She’d been drowned twice, hanged once, and even strangled a handful of times. But nothing would make her call it quits.
She slipped into the bathroom closest to her and hastily undressed in one of the stalls. With her high heels still on, she put on an eight-holed dress, with the scandalous slits running up her sides by fours. Beatrix covered herself in a black cloak, careful to make sure none of the red dress could be seen beneath it. Once satisfied, she tossed on a mourning cap n’ veil and headed to the funeral.
Standing in the back, everything was quiet. Even the whispers had subsided at this point, and all eyes were slowly drawn to her.
And maybe it was the water slowly dripping down her back. Perhaps it was the strange hue of her eyes or the mysterious grey-purple color of her hands. One way or another, everyone began to scream in recognition, running and pushing themselves out the door.
But Beatrix was waiting for their wail, and smiled while ripping off her disguise. Eight vibrant tentacles burst from her ribcage, grasping at every member of the party that they could. A few made their escape, but she ran down the hall made off with them as easily as the rest. Checking to make sure none of the victims survived, she zipped up the holes of her slim dress and entered the left room.
“Finally finished your assignment, Beatrix?” A woman drawled from the door.
“Of course, did you expect me to hesitate?”
“No, and I’m glad you didn’t. Those were more than your relatives, darling. Those were our latest experiments.”
“What do you mean, Eliza? Did you feed them poison and wanted to make sure they were finished off?”
“No. They’re indestructible. We’re sending off agents to check to see if our serum worked. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a party to attend.”