Under the dim lights, a man elegantly swirled a glass filled with an unknown red liquid as he sat upon the highest throne, leisurely taking a sip.
Below sat a massive rectangular table with three empty seats beside it. On the seat closest to the door rested a black-and-white funeral portrait of Aier. In the photo, she was gently tugging at a blue shirt with one hand, flashing a peace sign with the other, and smiling brightly at the camera.
Joker sat right in the middle, a white cloth draped over his chest. In each hand he held a knife and fork, intently carving into a whole, bloody arm resting on the plate before him. It looked as though it had been freshly hacked off, completely unprocessed and unheated.
Chapter 49