He was sorry it had to be this way. Sorry about the lies, sorry about his own inevitable and disgraceful treachery. He was weak, although he could endure any pain. He knew they were wrong and he knew they were right. He was the loudest, the most enthusiastic; a leader. Nothing was radical enough for him, no declaration too grandiose . He was born under the sign of the Hanged Man and his skin gleamed in the tarnished light like newly washed gold. He knew he would pay for his lies; he knew it would hurt, a lot and he was sorry about that too.