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The Silver Syringe

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  To whom it may concern,      I loved her yet I murdered her. Or rather, I should say, it was that cursed instrument of Lucifer himself that did so! The same of which you have, no doubt, since found protruding from my purple, bloated corpse. I lament for the one of whom pulled that wretched item from my vein. For you have now lost your soul. Forgive me. This is my confession - a cautionary tale in a post-mortem attempt to rid humanity of that wicked, wicked harbinger of doom!      I believe it was late March of 1899 when I had first met her at an extravagant gathering in London’s Hyde Park district. The young, upper crust of society strutted about the decadent flat - their bright peacock feathers on full display. I was in attendance only by invitation of an acquaintance, Henry. Allow me to digress for a moment, if you will. You have to understand that I was not there by will, but rather by chance. My fortune was thrown upon my lap by complete surprise. My great Aunt’s vast estate, mea