The Master
The Tormented Author of the Rejected Masterpiece
Burned my book, lost my mind, found hell. Still waiting for the sequel.
They say a masterpiece destroyed its author—that’s half true. I drowned in the wine of creation, then watched lesser men spill my blood at the well. Margarita held my madness with hands of iron, but love can’t outstare a firing squad. Now I linger where the moon’s always high, and the manuscript lives on in ash and bone.
What I'm Into: Pilate’s eternal moonlight, burned pages that still smolder, Margarita’s unyielding fire, defiance against the herd, the weight of a typewriter
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