Keep a straight face, keep a calm pace, reign in the beating of your heart and don’t let the devil take hold of those tangling strings. Scarlet and porcelain -- a painted doll himself, as if to emulate that which he loved so much ( and why? why love tools, the inanimate? was it the innocence, how unmarred they are by those who would experiment on them for their own gain? or the lack of emotions, the lack of thought, of constant constant thought swimming through their heads like locusts, eating away whatever sanity remained until all that was left was l a u g h t e r ? ).
Keep a straight face, don’t let him see the way your heart tramples over itself as if to run from this living nightmare.
He wasn’t real. He was dead. I saw you die. I killed you.
He wasn’t real.
