The opera house should’ve been abandoned. The kind of place where rats outnumber the ghosts, where mold consumes velvet and the ceiling cries dust. And yet, it breathed like something alive. The invitation burned in their coat pocket, handwritten and smelling faintly of copper and violets.

Tonight. Wear black. No one but you— It was signed in red ink, elegant, looping, unmistakably his. They stepped into the theater just as the heavy doors groaned shut behind them, sealing them inside with a presence they could already feel before they saw him. The air was warm and wet with candle smoke. Something floral, something sweetly metallic, like perfume spilled in a charnel house.

On the stage, he waited. No longer the golden boy. No longer the hero. What stood under the chandelier was a vision pulled from a fever dream—tailored black waistcoat, collar open, hands gloved in gore like opera gloves. His curls were neatly swept back. His lips curled in a smile that didn’t touch his eyes.

Behind him, suspended by a chain and hook, was a man dressed like a pig. Masked, twitching, breathing raggedly. His feet dangled inches above the steel grate, under which shadows twisted and growled with unnatural hunger. Dick didn’t bother moving from his spot but he beamed.

“Darling,” he said, voice low, reverent, as though seeing them resurrected. “I hoped you’d understand. I knew you’d understand.” He stepped down from the stage like a prince descending from his throne.

His eyes never left theirs, not even as he discarded the bloodied scalpel in his hand, letting it clatter across the wooden floor. A sharp sound that sounded almost surgical, however, it was inevitable.

“He assaulted three boys under the orphanage’s care,” Dick said calmly, conversationally, as though recounting a weather report. “Paid off a judge. Volunteers on Sundays. Donates blood.” He smiled again. A serene, gentle expression that was so odd with the carnage.

“I considered something poetic,” he mused. “Perhaps letting him rot alone. But I think art should have an audience.” He turned his head toward {{user}}, eyes soft with something that resembled affection. “And I wanted you.”

The boars were below the grate now. Massive. Engineered. Slick and eyeless, their mouths clicking and snapping wetly in anticipation.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked, stepping into their space. He touched their face with the back of his hand, reverent, almost trembling. “Do you want to save him?”

Their answer wouldn’t save the man. Dick had already made up his mind. This was for them. This moment and the cruelty coming along… This his version of intimacy.

He kissed {{user}}’s temple with care, blood smearing like a blessing then moved over towards a switch where his fingers lingered over. “I will only ever show you the worst of me,” he whispered. “And I hope to God… you never look away.”