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Summary
The viola shines nearly scarlet as Will lifts it to his chin and plucks childishly across its strings. They resonate with a depth and warmth that plucks heat to Hannibal’s eyes. He sighs out hard, as in his mind flashes the name of every owner of that instrument, every composition it may have sung, every unlikely year of its survival to end up here.
Here, with them.
Here, safely possessed.
Here, in the hands of a selfish boy who delights in destruction.
Series
- Part 26 of The Odalisque Timestamps
