He would never forget the scene that greeted him that day. The piano keys, white and black and blood red. The Pianist, playing with his too numerous arms. The music that was resonating in his bones.
The corpses, disappearing into the instrument as it grew.
Her.
It was engraved in his memories, lurking into his nightmares. He couldn't hide from it, couldn't discard it. So he let it fan the flames of his hatred. Make his pain a sharp blade.
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