A fragmented tale of forbidden love, betrayal, and revenge — told in pieces, like the people in it have already started to break apart.

A Venetian outsider. A woman who shouldn’t have loved him. A vengeance that doesn’t fix anything and burns everyone anyway. Byron wrote this one in fractured, broken fragments on purpose… the story arrives the way trauma does, sideways, incomplete, devastating in the gaps as much as what’s said outright.

This is the most gothic thing he ever wrote. It shows.

Curated and introduced by G. Ashworth.

He didn’t want to talk about this one for a long time. He’s talking about it now.