Ludwig beilschmidt needs a hug
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Summary
The sound of musket fire tears through the air. bright blossoms of artillery fire light up the dark night, painting the shattered glass of storefront windows with a kaleidoscope of chaos. Gunpowder and rotting flesh create a hellish oder that rises from the cobblestones like a vengeful ghost. Crimson blood splatters against black and gold, the punctured fabric waving limply from a nearby house. In the streets below, the masses roar.
Gilbert stands in the window of his modest townhouse and observes the scene below.