Heise's Hundredth Heartbreak

The seventh clone climbed the oyster-shell stairs with solemn grace. Gilded chains shimmered at his ankles, each movement sounding a delicate chime—like temple bells muffled under velvet. Below, the crowd fell into a hush, as if the music of his bondage struck something sacred.

Behind him came Beatrix, a wraith in black and steel. Her presence said everything her mouth never needed to: this offering is not yours to touch.

The curtains of the VIP lodge were drawn back like a sigh, revealing a sanctum where the rich and powerful reclined like gods in a sky built of velvet and gold. It was the highest point of the Purple Velvet Venue, a room no eye could pierce without invitation—and yet it saw everything.

The seventh clone did not enter.

He arrived.

The seventh clone of Ru slipped past the velvet curtains with the soundless grace of a phantom.

From their position lounging on the curved indigo settee, two VIPs turned their masked faces toward him.

Claude and Heise.