Her lips are sincere with deciet. I cast my stare into her eyes and focus on her pupils. They enlarge with each lie that falls from her confidence-shrouded lips. Her lips continue to move, but as quicksand, their movement only pulls her deeper into my knowledge of her lies. Her lies keep triggering my extra-sensetive sixth sense: lie detection. She is the swan. Beautiful, yet when she sings she brings death. And tonight, she will serenade me with her swan song. Unfortunately, she does not know that I am immune to what I know.