[He's not in the mood for stories, but he's always in the mood to flash his victim card. The version of the tale he delivers this time is blunt, but still somehow sharpened to a fine point. Shadows of sorrow stretch out thinly but infinitely behind each word.]

My sister died. She was killed by humans we had trusted, whose hearts we thought we had changed. I realized that it was foolish to believe that people could learn to change, and so I dropped all of my earlier delusions. [And so the remaining layers of his innocence and naivete wilted away to reveal a bitter core.]