Rhea’s head exploded into a spray of blood, brain, and bone. “But, dear, think! He is your father. She will die if she knows I have a gun. The infant’s body, now missing its pulverized head, was still twitching among the blood-soaked ruins of corpses. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. You. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window.
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