Of course, I Engineer.

Every move, I make from here.

Taking the lead.

Giving the pain.

If you take a look, i engineered

This game.

Free interpretation from I Engineer by Animotion

The exercise of force lies solely within the power of the state. The state has the legitimacy to exercise physical force.

Simple definition of the state's monopoly on the use of force.

 

 

Life is good.

 

Especially when I look into the brown eyes of Mariette. In the morning when I wake up and she suffers silently because her hands are tied and her mouth is gagged.

A good way to start a day.

I could have just laid here, played extensively with my girls all day, let my muscle-bound, chaste slave serve me hand and foot.

 

There is some wonderful news about my social status!

 

I have MARRIED!

FIFTEEN TIMES. YAY! YEAH!

 

At least in a certain sense.

 

After Arina, this little sneaky, devious, cunning and horny fur ball has fooled me with her milk and cream trick so there was, to say the least, unrest in the harem.

The nagging among themselves was amusing at first, but in the long run only annoying. Typical women. Sigh.

 

There was really only one solution and that's why I took off everyone's collar.

And put all before the choice. Each one was allowed to leave immediately. Or she could decide to stay with me. There was an awkward silence where before there was still clamor. Apparently this reaction of mine was not in the sense of the quarrelsome to have been.

Before the first tears began to fall, I decided to seize the opportunity.

 

Better said I started to seize the rabbit ears. For a start.

 

One by one, I grabbed each of my bunny girls by their velvety, long, lovely ears and forced them onto their knees in front of me. It goes without saying that I did not want it to end at kneeling. Not when I could force my "brides" to consummate the "marriage".

I'm really not sure if the "you may kiss the bride now" reference applied to me at that moment. But I didn't resist either.

 

I let Alice stew until the end. She was appropriately grateful when I grabbed her by her cute, no-good, naughty ears, too.

None of my girls should feel disadvantaged. A classic mass wedding. Sort of.

 

The "wedding" with my kitties was sort of - messy. And consuming. In the literary sense. And deliciously dirty, you know what I mean.

Not that bathing in milk or rubbing myself with whipped cream wasn't fun.

Letting eight starving kittens eat me up one by one? Oh, fucking, nasty old Viking!

Especially Arina, as the last one, had to go above and beyond to give me a final climax. She at least had the decency to smile guiltily before jumping into her meal.

 

As a "wedding night" I couldn't complain. My " mates " all received the mark "beyond measure".

In short, I could either just lie around lazily and live out my decadent tendencies or take off on my honeymoon.

Unfortunately, there was enough work to do.

 

And it was also clear to me, my lack of motivation was all but guaranteed to be due to my dramatic lack of coffee.

 

My construction sites and projects were progressing at a pleasingly brisk pace.

Cement, glass and mirror production got off to a good start. Whereby I had throttled the production of glass due to too little quartz. Technically, production was a complete success.

The mirrors in particular generated breathtaking revenues. Crazy. I would have asked first what the availability would be like in the next few months before rushing like mad to buy the first mirrors. Apparently, my assessment of the rarity and what buyers were willing to spend for it was spot on. Rather, true to platinum.¹Here was a pun about gold and platinum intended. Sadly lost in translation.

 

Admittedly, I "magically" helped in a few crucial places. Mainly because of the stability of my buildings. On the one hand, my machines weighed several tons, and on the other hand, I wanted to make the houses habitable and usable as quickly as possible.

I told my apprentices a little half-truth about important material quality and if you were not sure, plan a little more stable and let it dry longer.

 

Harvesting my first crop of rubies was a special moment. They still looked like nothing. But I knew about their potential.

And my " mates " needed a better sign than their collars to present their status to me. A beautiful ring with a ruby set in it. Not on the finger.

On the "sensitive" spot, of course.

A deliberately plain looking ring to put on their finger would be a bonus.

 

One for me, too. One ring to … ahemm, maybe I shouldn´t go there.

Maybe some classy chokers, too? Sometimes a girl becomes sentimental.

 

I wanted to take care of an unsettled inconvenience today. Before the housewarming event with ladies of the highest society took place, someone was to be taken out of the equation.

I had given Edward more than enough time to express himself regarding Baron Frederique de Kurdal. After a rather brief but impressive conversation, the "Fingerless Will" went back to his chatterboxes of guild members with a nice heavy bag. To my extremely minor consternation, the beggars began to relay the confirmed rumors that Edward and Frederique had banned certain articles of clothing not only in the palace but throughout the city. Maddeningly, there were even announcements in the form of important-looking parchments posted on the blackboards. The well-paid announcers, however, did not need to read off what was written there. After all, they had learned everything by heart and only had to point to the royal coats of arms and seals from time to time.

 

It was really a shame that not more people could read for themselves.

 

It was a pity that I could only pull off this trick once. But in the long run, I would benefit to a greater extent from more literate people in the population. As soon as I rigorously demanded in the next few days that all my workers and anyone who wanted to trade with me had to be able to read, my schools would have to cope with a new onslaught.

Once the news had had some time to circulate and ferment among the population I could ask a few innocent questions. I hear a few of my clients are pretty high up on the social ladder. So I've heard.

 

I wonder what Edward had to say about the outrageous news.

 

My little enslaved slave trader turned out to be ... interesting. There was a second story besides the under-the-radar business with Frederique.

Not only was he hired to enslave my two zealots, no much better, it was the same client. Poetic injustice.

Needless to say, I had to share this sad truth. The dashing paladin was already sufficiently trained by me not to react visibly. Evelyn didn't take it quite so well. Not something that broke her. But it didn't help her loyalty toward her former employer either. It could only be fine with me. Her next "conviction" by me was already firmly scheduled. A "baptism" of the "revelation" of her subordination, so to speak.

After the now enslaved could see with his own eyes what fate had befallen the two, he was very anxious to tell me all the dirty details about the church in Nagronde. That he was their contact man and and and ... All very revealing. The possibilities of having one of the channels, especially the darker kind, under my control was stimulating. With a little support of one or two of my " mates " in his previous dealings, something useful should come out of it after all. Only his collar would have to disappear.

 

Any jewelry would stand out. Rings on fingers, ears or nose were eliminated too.

Penis rings or cages had their appeal, but honestly I wanted to save these little trinkets for special occasions. In the end, I decided on a discreet belt harness, flat fitting, unobtrusive and easy to wear under clothing. Whether I enchanted a leather strap or a collar made no difference, after all.

And somehow the harness suited my little enslaved slaver. At least the oars raised my opinion of him a notch. From yeast to worm.

 

And I swear I have no idea why Mariette, Constie and Virga sighed "Yes please, Mistress" when I sized them up. Always these lewd distractions.

 

I sent him off to "work" along with Constie and Arina. The two of them would keep him nicely on course and on leash.

 

From Cheval came a rather strange request. Her explanations left me curious but not really smarting. She pranced around the bush like a timid pony. Somehow a special customer, probably a man, was involved with very special interests and if I might be willing to help. My broodmare would have to explain at her next report which sexual inclinations triggered such restlessness in her. I pondered whether she was personally involved.

 

However.

There were two big issues on my list that I wanted to at least address.

 

Electricity.

 

Indoctrination.

 

 

Electricity is a really useful thing. You can do so many things with it. And once the basic knowledge of the nature of electricity and the dependence on magnetism is present, the creation is quite simple. By the end of elementary school, children can already grasp the basics. And from there to a working generator, it takes very little.

It's kind of unfortunate to introduce electricity and its generation into this world ONLY to make lamps light up. A damn waste, admittedly.

Now the obvious, that is to everyone else, reason was to make lamps shine. Good street lighting or light inside houses is a very convenient thing. Civilizational.

 

And you can even use it to emit visible light over a few kilometers. At the push of a button, so to speak. On. Off. On. Off. Sufficiently powerful lamps mounted at the appropriate height would be visible even at some distance. Together with a good pair of binoculars, even quite visible during the day. One possible use for such a phenomenon is, of course, messaging.

Somehow it happened that I had planned for rest stops along my Autobahns. How prescient. I'll be patting myself on the back later. The distance was not entirely arbitrary. If you take the Earth as a model, you can see an average of 20 kilometers on a clear day at a height of 20 meters. As long as you know the radius of the sphere you are standing on, the corresponding simplified formula is ridiculously basic.

 

View distance is equal to the square root of radius multiplied by altitude multiplied by 2.

 

Admittedly, I didn't bother to find out the radius of this other world beforehand. The simple assumption that Maronde is approximately equal to Earth is more than sufficient for this purpose.

Should Maronde be smaller, the distance would be slightly less and vice versa. The approximate value is enough for me.

 

Copper. Glass. Electricity. A little know-how. Voila, a simple messaging system is ready.

Courteously provided by me.

 

Each of my service stations is built with a tower. A message is passed from one tower to the other. All made possible by electricity generated by me. I provided the resources and infrastructure and anyone could send messages within the network for a fee. At a previously breathtaking speed over long distances. If a dispatch courier with ideal horse change needed at present six hours for 100 kilometers. A message via my system was only minutes on the way.

 

Why I do not use telegraphy or even radio? Who says I would not use telegraphy or radio? There was no reason to share this technology with anyone. It is quite enough if I have it.

 

Beside my Autobahns I had trenches dug at the same time into which power and telegraph lines would be laid as soon as I could produce them. Each message tower would receive a complicated operating machine in the style of a typewriter. I'll just call it an "enigma". Kind of excitingly mysterious, isn't it? No one really knows how it works or exactly what it does.

 

How fortunate that the message towers themselves functioned well as radio antennas. This made it much easier for the little radio transmitter in the enigmatic machines to send the little messages via radio wave. Very practical. Inventive engineering. After all, I had to know at the same time if there were any technical problems. Or much worse, any falsifications. After all, a service provider has a legitimate interest in everything running smoothly. Of course, there needs to be a necessary softening of any data protection. The intelligence service of the Meritocracy of German Nation promises not to pass on the secrets of its customers to third parties. And we will use the knowledge gained exclusively for our own purposes. Promise. We value the privacy of our customers. Very much.²German pun. Lost in translation. Nachrichtendienst can mean messaging service and intelligence service.

 

So I needed electricity to bring light into the darkness. I felt like Prometheus and Morning Star all in one.

 

And I needed the power to charge smartphones, pads and notebooks.

Enko-kun sounded really excited in her last message. Apparently, some heroes had already run out of battery. Enko-kun assured me the heroes would be eternally grateful. Sigh.

Illusions are a beautiful thing until they bite you in the butt. Trust and gratitude were good, but I didn't want to rely on that.

It would be interesting when the decision was made whether the heroes would have to come to me for recharging or I would have to lay a line to the palace. Dance, Edward. Dance. Can you hear my tune?

 

My steam turbine and generator needed some attention from me. I was able to obtain copper and copper ore. Just tell the trade guild and as long as I pay with gold the wagons would roll. Having a smelting furnace built for it was not complex. I could leave the construction to Charl without worry. Wire would be a little more elaborate but a rolling mill wasn't really a challenge. It was basically just rollers that had to turn at the right speed. I was able to leave the laying of the power lines to others after some training. Digging a trench, putting in a cable, and then backfilling it doesn't really require any degree.

 

The sequence was also predetermined. First the turbine. Then the melting furnace and the rolling mill for the wire. At the end came the generator that needed the copper wire. For the magnets, some tinkering would be necessary. So magic.

I contracted the manufacturing of the needed components and the ordering of the needed materials after I finished my planning. A good week expected if there were no delays. So two weeks at least if I don't cut off a few heads.

 

As useful and exciting as slaves were. A certain sense of proportion for the amount I invited into my bed and the fundamental consideration of what I actually intended I could not lose sight of.

Slaves were certainly easy to use for many things. Command and execution. Very helpful in the short term. In the long run, however, I didn't want to bother with it, not when I had a more interesting solution.

Even in bed it was only intermittent and limited fun when my partners just had to do what I wanted. To really tease me it always takes a certain amount of resistance that has to be overcome. The really best circumstance is when my partner willingly submits to me. And not just because she has no other choice. If she likes it all the better.

That is why my companions no longer wore collars. If they trusted me enough to join me for life, I could trust them enough not to stab me in the back at the first opportunity without being enslaved.

 

And for the army of my working slaves, I needed a solution other than marrying them all. Ugh.

I made it clear to each of my slaves that they could be freed after a year if a few conditions were met.

• No betrayal.
• Diligent work.
• Diligent learning.

 

The curriculum for my slaves included, in addition to the "normal" subjects, two special lessons, each of which was mandatory for later use.

Indoctrination and advanced indoctrination.

 

The simple indoctrination every slave had to go through who wanted to be set free. And yes, to my surprise, there were a few who did not want to be released afterwards.

Advanced indoctrination was intended for the inner circle. For people who were eager to serve me. My confidants and lieutenants.

 

Simple slaves were perhaps good for simple work. They were not good enough for my plans.

I did not need cannon fodder. I wanted subjects. Who voluntarily supported me or at least did not work against me.

Slaveholding here was aimed at exploiting the labor force. And nothing more. How short-sighted.

I would force each slave not only to work, but also to do sports, education and some basic military training. Even if not everyone stayed with me after completing their education, everyone would still be useful to me. And they would not be against me. Even if a former slave was not for me, his indoctrination would still take effect.

 

The intention behind the teaching content for the indoctrination lesson was:

Loyalty to me.

Nothing more - Nothing less.

 

By various means. But mainly by brainwashing.

• Nobody betrays me.
• Nobody betrays my secrets.
• Nobody acts against me.
• Everyone reports what happens in their environment.
• All are loyal to me.

 

I could discuss the moral implications of using brainwashing and mind control. But not with my property.

 

There was a problem with this. At least one snag. Currently, I could still personally take care of the indoctrination class. In the future, however, I would probably run out of time. Either I designed the method more efficiently, or ...

"Why don't you just transfer the task, mistress? I mean, you also employ teachers for the other subjects. And please keep stroking, mistress. It's so cozy here."

The little kitten was always sneaking onto my lap lately. When I was distracted or thinking about something, I didn't notice the weight and unconsciously started stroking her soft fur. Just like now. And sometimes I think out loud.

"And can you think of anyone, Eva? I can't take anyone for such a task who is not trustworthy and accurate. One mistake can have devastating consequences, you know."

The little girl purred contentedly to herself.

"I could do it. I'm trustworthy. And I always pay attention, mistress."

She was right in each of the three statements. Indisputably.

 

Sometimes you have to take good advice. That's what good advice is for, after all.

 

"All right. You learn from me the what, how, and why. If I don't find fault, I'll make you my indoctrinator, Eva."

"Yay! Will you make me one of your mates, too?"

Sly, wily cat beasts. Give them a bowl of milk and they want the whole cow.

"When you're of age, Eva."

"Buzzkill! Ew!"

The naughty little thing stuck her tongue out at me!

I swished her head and said "Ask Arina what happens to naughty kittens, Eva. Hup."

And off she went. I was sure Arina could emphatically convey to her why naughty behavior led to painful results with me.

 

Wouldn't it be time to find out what is being discussed in the city? Unfortunately, my fears came true. Apparently, Edward and Frederique wanted to ban the innocent underwear of yours truly in the city. Something like that can quickly turn into a solid scandal.

 

Perhaps I had also exaggerated a little too much.

Two hours later I got more and more alarm messages that Frederique wanted to see the "witch" burn. Apparently he had lost his calm and composure. I fear a storm is coming. Time to get the horses out of the pasture and close the windows.

Becca was so obliging to immediately pass on my guarding order for my production site to all free guild members.

 

My estate, if I showed up, would be the likely target of Frederique's efforts. If my informants were to be trusted, Frederique had armed what servants, personal guards, retainers he had available. Add to that a real, true, motherfucking shitty mercenary company. Unbelievable. Frederique apparently spared no expense or effort. A little under a hundred armed and ready to fight.

 

Time for some bloodshed.

 

I wrote Edward a little note. Nothing special. Certainly no threat. Just the information that I considered my property an embassy. As exterritorial territory of the Meritocracy of German Nation. Perfectly normal for an embassy. Even here on Maronde. Really no big deal.

And then I sat back with some light reading and began to wait. Come hell or high water.

 

Violence is a strange thing. It is always said that violence does not solve problems. Well, every craftsman has an ambivalent opinion about this. Violence can be a solution for some stuck screws. Especially if you have tightened them too much before. Not if they are rusted because you forgot to oil the thread beforehand. In this case, use rust remover first.

So there are legitimate situations for using force. And not only with screws. But also with people who have a screw loose. Even if not everyone will agree with me and, on the contrary, demonize any violence and break out in shouts.

Completely justified is the objection that I provoked Frederique. I should have talked to him. Convince him with arguments. Should have, should have - bicycle chain.³German pun. Hätte, hätte - Fahrradkette. Expression when you can no longer reverse a wrong decision or when something is only possible in wishful thinking.

 

Did I provoke him? Yes, and? That's the same argumentation as: "Why did you dress so provocatively when you wanted to go to that party. Admit that you were out to get raped!" or "Why did you vacuum, wash AND then gas up your car before you parked it in this bad neighborhood? You WANTED someone to steal the car and take it for a joyride! Were you after the insurance?"

Why should I talk to Frederique? Why convince with arguments? Persuade to what? I don't like that I should do anything other than breathe happily and contentedly and go about my business and indulge inclinations. Next thing I know, I hear someone making a racist crack about dominants can't be trusted. Or villainesses must be locked up because they would be a danger.

 

What are you, a little racist? Congratulations, every one of us is a racist somewhere. You just have to dig deep enough. Every one of us learns to demarcate. Skin color is just the visible characteristic we use to delineate the other. And if it is not the skin color, maybe it is the clothes, the gender, the ideology, just choose the drawer you like. What counts is that you recognize it and decide for yourself to what extent you let it influence the life of your counterpart.

 

Violence is something fascinating. Frightening. Terrifying. Attractive. Every facet of the spectrum of human response is possible with violence. Berserk behavior, madness, profound calm, fear, ignorance. I could probably go on enumerating for a long time.

We are omnivores, but we kill like any other hunter to eat. Violence is also in our nature. And we kill also if we do not want to eat.  It´s in our nature. Denying doesn´t help.

 

Yes, I had, so to speak, put on my hottest and most provocative outfit and strolled up and down like a slut in front of Frederique. And had kicked his ego into the gutter in the process. Does that mean he has to behave violent?

 

On purpose. So what? Did I provoke his violent reaction with that?

Yes. On purpose. So what? I thought you think violence is not a solution?

I'm not suddenly the evil villainess just because I don't strike first?

 

A lurking hunter waits for the prey. Camouflages itself. Attracts them with scents. Waits in ambush until the right moment.

 

I am not a lurker.

 

But I can act like one.

 

It was just before dinner. A little later than 19:00 when Frederique came to see me.

His visit turned into an orgy of violence and blood.

 

It was a pity that I did not have electricity yet. Here and now a minefield of wires, under high voltage, stretched at foot level would be a rotten surprise.

 

So the mob stormed towards me unhindered after they had broken through the gate. A tidal wave of deadly aggression. The shiny drawn weapons swinging wildly. Shouting curses, revving themselves up.

 

I rose from my chair. Bowed to my guests and spectators from outside. A little more than 100 meters until the first one would reach me. It was time to channel my inner ballerina.

 

Select playlist. Russian - Games. Select song. Korobeiniki. Start.⁴Just g@@gle. Everybody knows.

 

And start my chainsaw.

 

Offence:               Armed invasion into the territory of the Meritocracy of German Nation, attack on the head of state.

Legal basis:         Preservation of sovereignty, defense against invasion, state monopoly on the use of force

Reaction:             Case of defense

 

For my audience, the sight must have been like something from another world. A fairy of death danced slaughtering through the rows of attackers.

 

Here an arm fell torn from the body. The sword still in the hand. Screaming response.

 

There, a fighter shrieked as his leg was sawed off with mechanical force. Red blood splattered in every direction. Calling timber.

 

A head that, precisely severed from the torso, fell to the ground in shock. Bouncing up a few times while rolling across the lawn.

 

Guts spilled out of a slashed abdomen and desperate hands tried to stuff them back in panic. To no avail. Never ever again.

 

It was not as if Freddy and Jason were having their fun. Not a horror movie where two adolescents kiss and everyone knows what's about to happen.

What was on display was like a horrible glimpse into the hell of a nightmare. Horror, splatter, gore, snuff - all mixed together. Reinforcing each other. Served on a silver platter.

 

The banshee slid screeching over the desecrated bodies of the victims. With the heel of the boot additionally trampled. Splattering.

 

The eye rolled out of a skull crushed under the sole. True to style and genre with a squish sound. The eye fluid squirting out.

 

The chainsaw song rang out among all the cries for help and pain. Triggered with sadistic glee and brutally amplified.

 

None of the poor pigs, who voluntarily threw themselves on the slaughter bench, seemed to have even a chance to come near me. The devil, dancing in the moonlight.

Spells fired failed or miraculously fizzled out before they even reached me. Dismayed mages were trying everything in their desperation. To no effect. Never again.

 

After about half lay around, in various stages of disembodiment, a group launched an attack from all sides. Only to be cut in half in a spiral of death that grew outward. A gruesome circle of destroyed bodies and limbs.

 

This was not a fight between two proud Scottish Highland clans. Where a Scotsman only becomes a man when he pisses in his kilt during the fight and then proudly tells his clan brothers about it. A good fight. A true fight. This was not. Nothing fair in a slaughter.

 

What my audience saw was a horrific carnage. A staging of insanity. The only thing missing was the laughter of a maniacal mass murderer.

 

As the first tried to flee, their ballarina of death followed them. Dancing.

 

Entrée

Attitudé.

Croisé

Chassé

Pas Chassé

Petit Allegro

Rond de jambe en l'air

Rond de jambe par terre

Révérence

 

Not a single one remained untouched. They all fell. A predator or lurker hunts what is needed to eat. But I am no lurker.

 

Each. One. Of. This. Poor. Cattle.

 

Mauled. Shredded. Sawed. Carved up. Sliced. Dismembered. Disembowled. Disassembled. Dismantled.

 

Decaying in their guts and blood on the floor, wasting away in agony.

 

Yet I wasn't even a fucking ballet doll. And that was no pas-de-deux. The Prima Ballerina took no prisoners. Not a single one.

 

Until the last whimper and wail subsided, the music was finished, and a petrified, icy, oppressive silence reigned.

 

 

If there was a Saturn Award on Maronde, this show would be a hot damn candidate for it.

At least that's what my audience saw. From a cinematic standpoint, my screening was perfect. A magical film. A near perfect illusion.

 

In reality, all the attackers were dead before they even got near a building.

Silently and painlessly fallen over. Simply dead and over. No carnage, no blood, no anything. Just dead.

 

My mates, servants and slaves saw what happened in reality and not the "movie" I presented to the handful of observers. Running off to report their observations.

 

Just because I kill doesn't mean I have to enjoy killing as such. Yes, there is the rush of adrenaline if you kill in a physical fight. Of course. But joy?

 

I do not enjoy violence. Just because I resort to violence when it suits me and seems necessary doesn't mean that I get off on it.

 

With the exception of sex. Pain and pleasure can go damn well together.

But that is not what this was about.

 

In this case, no real cruelty was necessary. The appearance was enough for me.

Starting tomorrow, two versions of what happened would circulate.

The false rumors that I slaughtered nearly a hundred men like a ghoulish banshee with a terrible weapon.

And what really happened, that almost a hundred armed men tried to attack a single woman and fell down dead. Their heads were cut off and they were impaled on the side of the road. The bodies were burned to ashes in a furnace.

 

Ah, that's right, I still have to do the chopping, impaling and burning. Dirty business. But sometimes you have to take care of these things yourself.

To my surprise, I didn't have to take care of every single detail on my own after all. Some have helped me.

 

The reason for my "acting"?

 

Respect is good. But I can also work with fear. The reports of the slaughter are guaranteed to generate fear. Fear that will probably buy me time.

And confusion adds uncertainty. If the "wrong" version is reported and the "true" events circulate, it can only be to my advantage. The fog of war blinds the unprepared.

 

Why did I lure Frederique into the pit of death? His time was up. At the latest after I asked Klien, Frederique's life flowed out of his hourglass. That Edward did not answer was also an answer for me. For Frederique, his deity may rest his soul, unfortunately the wrong one.

 

Violence can be helpful if it serves a purpose and does not become an end in itself.

 

But it was clear to me that I had merely acquired time. No matter that I had restrained myself this time as far as brutal violence was concerned, not the killings themselves. Even the subsequent mutilation of the corpses only served the purpose of concealment. Someone simply had to notice that there were no severed limbs. Only completely intact corpses.

 

In the end, I could not prevent becoming a target.

 

What I could do, however, was to engineer the game in my favor.

 

The common people knew the truth. I would see to that. The people behind the observers were fed fake. When the people see and hear what lies high-ranking people are spreading about me, what kind of reaction might that bring?

 

Still, something made me wonder. Would this evening after my mass wedding be recorded historically as a blood wedding? Or would the blood on my lawn be considered proof of my virginal innocence?