He pens his final words in blood because it is all the ink he has, the ivory letter opener his only instrument, and yet so much to say. As he carves his finest calligraphy, he realizes that blood is all he has ever had to write with, really, if one isn't too literal about these things, and he laughs surprised at the thought.
Because it is is important that they know, he signs in a great plume the name of his murderer: himself, only himself, like all writers great and small.
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