“So glad you could make it, Zack,” Daniel greets, gripping one hand in a handshake and slapping me on the back with the other. Dan’s house is just as ostentatious as any other person with a bank account sitting in the millions. His house is rustic, with an accent wall made of wood to imitate a cabin, exposed beams, wooden floors that he paid big money to look weathered, and a lot of tan and brown accents. Abstract paintings decorate the walls, each painting with an earthy tone of reds, browns and yellows. I pause at one in particular, the drone of Daniel greeting other guests behind me turning into a low buzz. The painting looks like two big brown eyes, with streaks of bright red trailing from them. Soft yellows and reds make up the round, short curves of the girl’s face. My eyes roam, taking in every detail until the full picture comes together. It’s a little girl crying tears of blood. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” I drag my eyes away to find Daniel standing next to me, his eyes roving over the painting with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He stares at the painting with pride as if he painted it himself. “Yes,” I murmur, before turning away. I’m not going to stand there and interpret art as if I'm not standing in a museum of depraved paintings. One glance around shows the other paintings are carved in subtle morbidity. I shake hands with a few people I recognize from Savior's and Pearl. Minutes later, Daniel has us all join him in the dining room, the twenty-foot-long table set