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You have no more affections for the living, Sergei, and I have no more affections for you.
(If only that were true.)
If only; I'd carve out my heart, still beating, and leave it on those spotless white sheets. Stain it red, would it even phase you?
Nothing phases you anymore, except me― the nuisance.
Worship the dead. Worship the dead, Sergei! See what I care, as I wither away beside you.
I think, even if I left, you'd curse the crater my body carved into the mattress, except you'd wish it were Natasha or Ash who made the imprint.

