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These Words are Bittersweet
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Four – Burn
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He burns it all.
Every sketch, every painting, every scrap of paper he's ever doodled her image on. The furniture, the curtains, the carpet and the everything else from the room he'd decided was hers. The clothes, the jewellery, and the knick-knacks. Everything.
He pours 100 year old brandy on the flames until he almost burns down the house, and all that's left are soft, snow-like ashes, soot covered gems and sections of the courtyard plated in gold and platinum. Then he goes into the cellar and drinks himself to death every night for a month.
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'I'm sorry," Stephan sounds tired, his voice roughened by what ever he's apologising for, "There was a hunter, she killed Caroline."
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Freya kicked the bottles further away from her brother and poured a bucket of iced water over his head. Klaus lashed out – wet, cold and hungover – snarling and baring his teeth at the perpetrator.
Freya stepped out of reach, and aimed the second bucket directly at his face. "She wouldn't want you to do this."
"How the hell would you know?" He snarled, wiping water from his eyes.
"I've seen her, remember?" Freya held out a towel, "In your memories. I know that Caroline would not want you to do this."
"I want to do this," Klaus declared, his voice dead, "And she's not alive to want anything anymore."
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