I look at these mortals scurrying about, convinced that their "choices" are what define them. It’s almost adorable, isn't it? They fight, they bleed, and they rebel, never realizing that every drop of sweat was accounted for in a grand design they lack the intellect to comprehend. Even my own defiance was merely a scripted movement in a play I thought I was writing.
We are all just shadows dancing in the palm of a hand we cannot see. But don't worry...