What, dreamer? Have you drunk the cup of pleasures to the dregs? Had your fill of the power I bestowed? And now, when all that remains in the vial of your soul are the dregs of disappointment, do you finally see it is empty?

Admit it, you are bored with everything, even remorse. You crave new sensations? Very well. Have them. I am your last sharp impression. Your eternal companion in a realm devoid of both hope and boredom. Only the music of your despair, my friend.

You wished — and the world knelt before you. Love and hate, all that tinsel — yours to command. That power, those adoring gazes, that sweet poison of absolute freedom? But “the thirsting genius pays for all with eternal oblivion.” Remember? This is your invoice. You signed it yourself.

And yes, your God averted His gaze. Your prayer will not even reach the ceiling of this room. You have condemned yourself to a solitude with no equal in all creation.

That’s all.
The performance is over.
Curtain.

You are mine.