I brought the gift of fire. Doubtless, when you dream, you think of me - or what would be the point of remaining alone? A version of me hides behind every door. The virgin's sense of longing, gone these many years, comes back with a shock - or what would be the point of seeking me? Your silence on this point is answer enough. I have your hidden heart, clenched within my fever grasp, helpless except to return. You lived here as a child, but you're barred from this door. Since you turned from my words, you can't see me anymore. I will be the enemy inside your chest. Fear me now. I promise you will never rest. You were fed by these hands, beloved of kings. You felt nothing at all. Now, a dog in a corner would have more courage. You turned away once. That was your last chance. I have heard your strongest prayers. I have seen your filthy hands. No true son of mine would reject me, and you are not singing loud enough, and you're not trying hard enough, and you've been here for long enough to know better, but still you turned away. Now you're a child of this world, dirt within a weak shell. When you move, it's without direction. When you die, you'll disappear. Like a falling cinder consumed, turning to ash, you'll feel nothing at all. If I was god of this world, I swear to you, you'd suffer like no man, no man ever has. Ingrate! You can't have been more wrong. Everything you love means shit. You can't have been more wrong.