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Painted in Red

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Her beauty was such that it massacred them all.
There was blood on the walls long after she was gone.

But when she came back, and danced on their graves,
They whispered in her ear, "Beauty is a fickle, fickle thing."
Her screams echoed off the tombstones,
And the graves were tinted with red once again
Destruction unto itself. Because that's what beauty does best.





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