He had been running away for a long time, even contemplating ending it all.
But in the end, he chose to face it all with calm acceptance, sharing a final supper with his parents and elder brother.
...
In the early hours, Raphael struck a match, setting fire to the wax figures, the dyes, the bodies, the blood-stained waxworks and the flawless works of art.
The roaring flames devoured everything.
Raphael watched the wax melt, saw his parents' faces blur, saw the little girl beside him turn into an unrecognizable, flowing mass of wax.
He wanted to cry, but his tears had already evaporated in the flames.
All he could do was open his mouth in pain, emitting a soundless scream.
The fire grew, spreading outward from the basement, igniting the entire house.
The firelight illuminated the street, shone upon Ambrose—now ground into pulp by a car—lit up the church, lit up the Gothic spire…
From the cross, Jesus watched it all.
