Epilogue
A nchor: “We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you a breaking and disturbing report from Anderson Cotes. A word of caution: Some of the images and details in this report may be distressing. Viewer discretion is advised. Anderson, over to you.”
Reporter: “Thank you, Robin. I’m standing here on the steps of the Elysian Chamber, the recently opened gallery owned by renowned artist Casius Moreau. This morning, Marlow Heights was shaken to its core by a crime scene so gruesome it has left both law enforcement and forensic teams visibly disturbed.
As the city struggles to recover from the destruction left in the wake of the violent war between the DeMarcos and the Gallos, today marks yet another dark chapter—one that will undoubtedly leave lasting scars.
Follow me as we step inside and reveal the horrific discovery.
The gallery’s once-grand entrance has been completely defaced. Behind me, painted in what experts believe to be human blood, are the chilling words: Welcome to The Beautiful Dead. Authorities suspect the blood may belong to none other than Casius Moreau himself.
Inside, we find what can only be described as a macabre spectacle. Moreau’s body has been mutilated and posed in a grotesque display, his skin flayed, bones carved into jagged extensions resembling wings—transforming him into a twisted imitation of a fallen angel.
Even seasoned law enforcement officers and forensic specialists have struggled to process the sheer brutality of this crime. Some have been seen exiting the building, visibly shaken by what they’ve encountered.
Perhaps most disturbingly, the gallery has been transformed into something beyond a crime scene—an exhibition of horror. The walls are lined with disturbing, avant-garde pieces, each one appearing to explore the theme of death in its rawest, most violent form. Authorities now fear some of these works may contain remains belonging to individuals reported missing in recent months. While this has yet to be confirmed, the implications are chilling.
But now, Robin, we’re hearing something happening upstairs. Officers appear to have discovered something else.
—Background commotion, an officer’s voice cutting through ? —
‘Chief! Upstairs, now!’
Robin, we’re moving quickly to follow the officers. We’re heading up the stairs now to get firsthand information on this latest development.
Chief Rutter—Chief, can you tell us what’s been discovered?”
Chief Rutter: (Visibly frustrated, addressing the camera crew)
“What the hell are you doing here, Anderson?”
Reporter: “Just doing my job, Chief. The public deserves to know what’s happening here. Can you confirm what your team has just uncovered?”
Chief Rutter: (Sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking)
“Fine. At approximately 08:00 this morning, our department received a call from a cleaner reporting a disturbance at the gallery. Upon arrival, we found the victim, identified as Casius Moreau, deceased. Cause of death appears to be a combination of strangulation and a fatal knife wound—driven through his jaw into his skull.”
Reporter: “And what about this new discovery?”
Chief Rutter: (Exhales sharply, visibly tense)
“We have just located two additional bodies inside Moreau’s private apartment. Both victims are female minors.”
Reporter: (Pausing, visibly unsettled)
“That is beyond horrific. Can you confirm their cause of death?”
Chief Rutter: “From a preliminary assessment, it appears they died from a combination of starvation and strangulation. But we’ll know more after the autopsy.”
Reporter: “This is truly a harrowing discovery. A crime that will shake this city to its very core. But, Chief, before we go—one last question.”
Chief Rutter: (Scowling, clearly irritated)
“Make it quick, Cotes.”
Reporter: “With this investigation underway, do you believe the Elysian Chamber will reopen? Will The Beautiful Dead be revealed to the public?”
Chief Rutter: (Jaw tightening, voice filled with disbelief)
“Are you serious right now?”
Reporter: “As serious as this investigation, Chief.”
Chief Rutter: (Shaking his head, muttering)
“I’m not discussing this.”
Reporter: “And there you have it, Robin. Chief Rutter has refused to comment on whether the gallery will reopen. As you can see, tensions are high, and now we are being escorted out of the premises.
This morning, Marlow Heights was introduced to a scene of unprecedented horror. Three victims, each revealing a different layer of darkness hidden beneath the city’s polished exterior. While we do not yet know if Casius Moreau was responsible for the two young girls found in his apartment, if he was—then perhaps, just perhaps, justice has already been served by an unknown hand. A vigilante.
Back to you, Robin.”
Anchor: “Thank you, Anderson, for that gripping report. To our viewers, if you’ve stayed with us through this coverage, we can only hope you’re doing okay. This was not the story we expected to be covering on this Monday morning, but it is one that will stay with us for a long time.”
“Domino, what the fuck is this?” His voice was sharp, laced with suspicion, his hand pointing toward the TV showing this morning’s news.
I stepped up behind him, slow and deliberate, the worn leather of the couch creaking beneath my weight.
A laugh slipped past my lips, low and syrupy-sweet, curling like smoke in the space between us. “I wanted to immortalize you.”
He tensed. He felt it. The weight of my words. The possession in them. I leaned in, pressing flush against him, breathing him in.
My lips ghosted over the shell of his ear, my fingers trailing up the column of his throat, feeling the rapid thrum of his pulse.
I wanted him etched into my eternity. Wanted the world to see what I saw. Wanted him to know there was no escaping me.
Not in this life.
Not in the next.
Not ever.
THE END