[desperately attempting to make amarant relevant]

_{[ "I'm not done telling you how to make soulless puppets out of the dregs of souls!"

He pictures the looks on the faces of his brother and his friends. Horror. Despair. A singular man who stood apart the others, who bore a calculating look of respect for what he'd pulled off. The look of someone who understood power and its necessity, first. ]}

Ever the busy bee, ferryman. I'm sure I'll be around.

_{[ he may have forgotten about what's later today. It's fine. Rose literally will not let him forget come time. ]}