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Summary
“Me?” Richard purred, fangs peeking through the blood. “Darling Andrew… I didn’t lift a finger.”
He tilted his head, eyes cutting to the carnage around them—Orpheus choking, the walls splashed with arterial scripture, the silence so thick it screamed.
“This masterpiece…” Richard said reverently, as if marveling at a painting in a forgotten gallery.
“…was all you.”