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Inked fingers weave a tapestry of malice, tracing accusatory lines across bodies and souls. They prod and preen, marionetting puppets of judgment, spewing discord like venom from vipers' tongues. But retribution waits, a crimson ballet pirouetting in shadows. Razor whispers slice the air, glinting under a moon smeared with the blood of the unjust. Guillotines hum macabre lullabies, their hungry kiss slicing through necks adorned with arrogance. Switchblades, quicksilver serpents, dance a tango of vengeance, carving justice onto flesh etched with lies. This macabre waltz, a symphony of steel and bone, is the price they pay for puppetry. Let the strings of deceit choke them, let the melody of mayhem be their only solace. For in this gory tableau, right paints itself in crimson, and the only applause is the echoing silence of the fallen.
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