Loki sat in the front row of the little church in upstate New York. His grandmother Bestla was being laid to rest in the last burial plot available in the entire state. News cameras were there to record the event. The plot, purchased years ago when his grandparents first married, was perhaps the most valuable piece of land in the entire country. All of the major cities in America had run out of places to bury their dead.

"Loki, the photographer would like a shot of you with your grandmother. He says you are very photogenic," Farbauti said.

"The photographer can go fuck himself. This is a funeral, not a circus," he said. His mother sneered at her eldest son. He'd disappointed her, as usual.

"I'll do it mom," Bill said, getting up to look mournfully over his Bestla's dead body as tasteful black and white photos were shot.

"Why can't you be more like your brother?" Farbauti asked.

"In what way mother?"

"You make everything so difficult."

"I'm your son. It's in my nature."

"Bill is two years younger than you and he graduated high school only one year after you and now you're both at the same level in college," she started in. "The NFL is looking to draft him. He's going to be the family success."

"Finding new ways to disappoint you is my single goal in life," Loke said to shine her on.

"Ugh, look, there is still time for you to take those additional classes that you need and apply for medical school. You could be a doctor, earning $400,000 a year or more."

"No. For the thousandth time, no. I don't want to remain in school for another four years. I don't want to dissect cadavers. I don't want to become a world-famous surgeon. I just want to become a registered nurse, live a quiet middle class life, and meet a nice man who will bend me over and fuck me up the ass every night on the dining room table," he said, adding that last bit to really piss her off.

"It's a sin against god. You're going to burn in hell."

"Keep the lake of fire nice and hot for me. No doubt you'll be my tour guide when I arrive," he said. The church was packed with strangers, mostly distant relations Loki had never met before. Bestla had been his touchstone, the one member of the family that loved him as he was, flaws and all. Now she was gone, and he had no advocate on his side at Thanksgiving or Christmas. Finding someone to love him took on a new urgency today.

"It's time to move the casket," The priest told them. Loki got up and with Bill, Laufey, and three of their cousins, the men carried Bestla's box outside in the rain to the awaiting wagon. The plot was only 600 feet away and so the mourners gathered to walk in procession behind the casket to the grave site. It made for perfect television spectacle. Reporters jammed microphones and cameras into their faces and asked them on their opinions about death, healthcare, and alternatives to burials. It was disrespectful and rude in Loki's opinion. The rest of his family seemed to preen from the media attention.

"Mrs. Blackstone, what is your opinion of blue diamonds? Do you think they are a fad or the future of death as a business?"

"Blue Diamonds are evil, in my opinion. They quite literally transform human ashes into a thing that can be traded, bought, and sold like any other commodity. It puts an actual price tag on a human life. It's despicable and wrong," Farbauti said. Loki rolled his eyes. She loved to preach shit like that. The reporter saw him roll his eyes, and smiled at the opportunity he presented.

"Young man, what do you think of blue diamonds?" he asked, jamming the microphone into his face as well.

"I think Blue Diamonds are a wonderful thing," Loki started, making sure his voice carried enough for his mother and everyone around him to hear. "Instead of rotting in the ground or sitting in a bucket on the mantle collecting dust, a loved one can be kept close in a convenient and fashionable way. The problem with cremation is you eventually need to scatter to ashes. You could put them in a pretty container and or in a plastic tub hidden in a dank storage area, but they can get lost or knocked over. How dignified is it to suck up your loved one with a hoover because a child knocked over the urn? There are reports all the time of human ashes abandoned or tossed in the trash by mistake, or even on purpose. When you scatter the ashes, it's usually in a public place like the beach or on a mountain. Then when you go to those places to mourn, they are filled with people who are happy and laughing and doing other things that living people do. I am grateful that I'll be able to come here and speak to my grandmother whenever I want. I'll always know where she is. But she is decaying, rotting in the ground. Cremating her and turning her ashes into a diamond would've meant that I could put her into a ring that I could wear on my finger. I would have much preferred that. I think I'm the only one here who really misses her," Loki said, glaring at the back of Farbauti's head. She clenched her fist but didn't turn around to look at him. Loki couldn't wait for the screaming fit that would come later once the cameras were gone.

When they reached the gravesite, Bestla was lowered into the ground and handfuls of dirt and flowers were tossed on top. Her headstone was beautiful, and she was right where she wanted to be, next to her husband of 52 years.

Loki was grateful for the rain, though it was still obvious from his red eyes that some of the wetness on his face was from crying. He was the only one who looked genuinely grieved. The rest of his family just looked bored and desperate to get back inside to a warm, dry place. The service ended, and they all got in their cars to drive to the reception. Loki was tempted not to go. It would be him, his family, and a handful of other relatives. He didn't like any of them. His brother would brag about his academics and football achievements, while simultaneously finding ways to insult Loki in the process. Farbauti would look at Bill like he was the second coming of Christ, and then lamely state that she did not have a favorite son when he mocked her. Laufey would pretend he was somehow deaf and blind and do nothing about her behavior. No. Fuck that.

Loki stopped his car short of pulling into his parent's driveway. His parents and brother were already out of their car, expecting him to park. Bill shot Loki one of his arrogant smirks, prompting Loki to give him the finger and drive away. His piece of shit car rattled as he did so, but he still felt pride. He'd bought and paid for the car himself, unlike some people in his family currently attending college. He turned up the radio and sang along to inspired lyrics of Lady Stardust.

XxXxXxXxX

Lady Stardust, aka Jennifer Miller, was a 22 year old woman from Ohio with one hell of a singing voice. Like so many before her, she'd boarded a bus to Los Angeles in search of fame and success. She was that mythical creature, that girl that somehow rose to fame and fortune without being forced to use the audition couch. Her waitressing career only lasted six months until she was discovered, and everyone wanted to know how she did it. That was the first question that popped out of the mouth of the reporter that had come to interview her in her new home today.

"Luck only gets you so far. You do need to have actual talent, and be savvy enough to not let other people take advantage of you. A lot of young people are so eager and desperate to get signed that they'll sign anything, enslaving themselves to these corporations that will work them to death and take all their money," she said.

"You didn't have a manager to do that for you?"

"No. At the time, I was so new in Hollywood, no one would give me the time of day. This town is filled with talented people who can sing your socks off."

"Exactly. That's what people want to know. How did you break through when so many can't?"

"I would say luck, but it's not that. I worked hard, made appointments with different agencies, made them bid me up."

"Bid you up, like a bidding war?"

"Um-hum. Sure did. No one wants to be the executive that let the next Jennifer Lopez or Katy Perry slip through his fingers."

"You're very smart and strong willed for someone so young. Where do you think that comes from?"

"My parents I suppose."

"Are you a natural blonde?"

"Yes, yes I am."

"People have commented on how pale you are. Some have even speculated that you are albino."

"You mean the mean girls on twitter and TMZ. Skin cancer runs in my family. Sunburns are painful and frankly, I love my pale skin. In the land of bronzed blondes, I stand out."

"Very smart of you."

"Thank you for noticing."

"You're very tall too, for Hollywood anyway. How tall are you?"

"Five foot ten. Hardly tall enough to be a super model but I definitely tower over most of the women in this town. I'm strong too. See?" she flexed her bicep to show off how toned she was.

"You could be a super model if you weren't a talented singer. An athletic one. Those blue eyes of yours are very striking," the report said.

"You know what to say to all the pretty girls," she laughed as she teased the woman asking her all the questions. The interview continued for another hour before wrapping up. Now that the reporter was gone, Jenny could return her attention to her hobby.

She made her way down to her basement of her new home. She'd paid a great deal of money to renovate this part of the house, and even more time with a hand-held drill adding her own special touches herself. There was a nice new large incinerator down there, imported from Europe. She pressed her thumb to the security pad and then added her code to gain access to the closed off part of the basement that held her 'panic room'. The hallway led to another door. It was a luxurious bedroom with a large soft bed, the best linens and a very large bathroom that was tiled floor to ceiling with a giant drain in the floor. It also boasted a large unsightly laundry sink that was out of place in the otherwise opulent lavatory.

Jenny pressed her thumb to the second keypad and looked at the security footage inside the room before entering. A petite 5'2'' young woman looked up at her from the bed.

"Let me go you crazy bitch!" screamed the little Latina named Maria. As she moved on the bed, struggling against her restraints, the sheets made a rustling sound that indicated plastic sheeting beneath them. Jenny pursed her lips and squeezed her eyes shut. If there was one thing she truly detested, it was being called a bitch. She grabbed the bucket sitting by the door and pulled out her pocket knife. It had been a while since the last time she took one of her special baths.