[video] "I'd rather die smiling, being hollowed out by a kiss from my sweet lord of death..."
[It's London Bridge late at night; there's no one about, except for the small figure of a woman, stumbling about, half-falling as she runs to the bridge and trips on her skirts.]
"Help me! Help! My face...my face is on fire!"
[As she dashes towards the bridge, her face grows clearer: it's scarred and swollen, with painful burns radiating out from her eyes. Another figure emerges from the fog, standing and watching, and the girl runs towards them.]
"It's burning! Please, I need a doctor! Help me!"
[The figure steps closer; it's a woman in a cloak, wearing a hideous scold's bridle mask. She tilts her head.]
"An ugly face? Uglier than this mask?"
[Her hand emerges from her cloak, bearing a long dagger.] "Oh, but it would be too pitiful to let you go on living with a face like that."
[And without another word, her arm swings in an arc, slitting the girl's throat so that blood sprays out wildly; she kneels down and begins to pry the girl's eyes out of her head and dropping them into a jar of formaldehyde.] "I'll take those eyes of yours, then. You're the third one, Lindy."
[Further back in the fog stands Jezebel, watching and bearing flowers in one hand. When the woman has finished screwing the lid onto the jar, she turns and giggles, leaping up and embracing him in a tight hug. Jezebel returns the embrace, the faintest hint of a smirk in his expression.