He studied the room, looking for the Oracle, but he couldn't see anyone else in attendance - at least not anyone alive.
Anyone can put paint on a canvas, but only a true master can bring the painting to life. Anyone can kill, but only a genius can make murder an art.
Life was such a precious thing, easily broken.
People are predictable. That's what makes them easy to kill.
His whole life was a sham, a fairy tale. The truth hidden behind a wall of lies, each lie another brick in the wall until he probably couldn't see the truth anymore.
