You’re selfish. In the most manipulative and discrete way. You’re a storyteller with the most innocent looking of faces. We believed you, we trusted you and we fell victim to your cruel games and there are still days we’d take that all back because the gold still glistens. That’s the hardest thing; the thing that damages our pride most and feeds yours.
You’re a conflicted character. I’m not sure if you even know who you’re supposed to be yourself. The character you’ve created is surely different in your eyes as it is in ours; and in mine to theirs, theirs to others. No one knows, but we all like to believe that we do.
It’s difficult to imagine that you’re not one of a kind but frankly, you’re both as bad as each other.
Not in the business of writing explicit details or specifying fact or fiction anymore. If the shoe fits, they say.