He was a sophisticate with a hint of blessed noblesse dressed in expected finery, his racing footsteps echoing into the night in cobbled tunnels of 19th century Paris.
I, his rapier-laden assassin, pursue with zeal, for passion as much as pay. My prey's curdled screams relentlessly cry out, "Somebody help!" Each cry I match with my own, a stillborn child of the world.
Blood pools forth with my unspoken tears, as one who receives only his employer's pay, never Love's hand; an unquartered soul.
I, his rapier-laden assassin, pursue with zeal, for passion as much as pay. My prey's curdled screams relentlessly cry out, "Somebody help!" Each cry I match with my own, a stillborn child of the world.
Blood pools forth with my unspoken tears, as one who receives only his employer's pay, never Love's hand; an unquartered soul.
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