Huh? Seriously? Aren’t I supposed to be a genius?
Why, why?! The fortune-telling’s not working!
A t-t-terrible guy, blabbering—what’s he saying?
Whatever, it’s got nothing to do with plain old me, right?
Hey! You there—human!
Got any weapons?
Did you hear that? Did you hear that?
The portrait spoke.
C’mon…
Even the dumbest fool wouldn’t shoot themselves.
We need more crimson on the paper—
Like a giant palette, hearts and blood vessels.
Today, I still want someone to notice… Ugh, what a pain.
Masquerade, a sudden assassination case.
Gunpowder residue on the victim’s cuffs.
Escher’s ambiguity—hands pointing back at themselves.
Paradox, an ill-fitting metaphor.
Like a barber shaving off a wig—
Self-creation, a twisted conjugate logic.
“I’m sorry! Probably just a hallucination, right…?”
See it now? It’s no lie!
