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Lucy had been on her share of bad dates. When her mom had chosen her name at birth, she surely had no idea how many Beatles puns would be thrown her daughter’s way-- but that wasn’t even the worst of it. Her mom would blanch if she knew about this most recent beau, the one who had been so normal, so kind, and so handsome. As was her custom on a third date, she invited him over to her apartment for drinks. It was going well until he moved in to unbutton her jeans. She smacked him away playfully and reached for her wine glass. He caught her wrist as her fingers twisted around the cold, slick goblet. Lucy gripped it tight and could only stare in horror as his hand once again moved to her bottoms. She opened her mouth to protest, and before she had made the barest squeak, his other hand was on her neck-- crushing her windpipe. In the midst of her struggle, everything went black.
Lucy came to with blood on her hands and shattered glass lining the floor. She looked down, noticed her clothing was intact, and immediately her shoulders tensed. Looking around for her assailant took only a moment as she found him slumped on the couch on the other side of her. His throat was torn to shreds, resembling... pulled pork. It was then that her stomach growled, and her mouth twitched up in a drooling smile. Not even having bothered to cook her meal, minutes later she licked her fingers clean of the remnants from her paramour’s hands-- the ones that had tried to fashion themselves into a fatal necklace around her throat. It was such a shame… he had seemed so nice, too. She couldn’t complain about being wrong, though. The taste of his flesh was worth the blossoming bellflowers of pain his touch had wrought.