She packed her suitcase with useless junk. Scraps of paper, her old wigs and coats – all things she knew would divert attention from her. After spilling gasoline all over the suitcase, she put on her finest auburn wig, fashioned into an elegant bob, painted her lips blood red and admired herself in the mirror for a second. You’re almost free, darling, she thought, confident nothing could stand in the way of her master plan.
Took out a piece of paper and a bic pen and wrote a note. The words were random, the note on itself made no sense. It had no sense to her either. It’s simply what she imagined people thought spies did – write notes for themselves in code. She tore a significant part of the note up and singed its edges.
Now comes the climax. She opened the door of her closet and out of it emerged a corpse of a woman. Her face was already completely burned off, as was all her hair, and her fingertips, making it completely unidentifiable, anonymous. For all intents and purposes, this corpse was nothing more than a mannequin. And that was just what she needed.
Leaving the suitcase open on the bed, she opened the large window. The chill winter air entered the resort room, her makeshift rope waiting for her. She grabbed it tight and made her way over the balcony. Before jumping down, she lit a match and threw it on the floor of what had been her room. Soon, the whole thing caught fire and she touched the ground, soft and smooth from the freshly fallen snow.
Leaving a blazing inferno in her wake, she ran as fast as she could into the nearby forest. She was finally free.