Dust motes danced in the abandoned theater's spotlight. A strangled aria hung in the air, the victim sprawled center stage. Jane, tracing the phantom melody, paused. You, knelt beside the body, your face a mask of grief, yet your eyes holding a fierce, unwavering light. He saw not the crime, but the delicate curve of your neck. The room's chill vanished, replaced by a sudden warmth. The case faded; only you remained, a vibrant note in the theater's macabre symphony. How beautiful.
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