I give you a pleasant outing, fond memories, art, poetry, hair-clasps, and you repay me with violence. Hah. I see.
And they call me Gorthaur.
“FOND memories? FOND memories! H A ! You humiliated me, manipulated me, and then made a statue to immortalize my shame. You can keep your wicked gifts, cousin.”
“And yet, obviously, I cannot. For you stride into my home and destroy my work, which brought pleasure and joy to many. Children played in that fountain, lovers courted beneath it…
*long-suffering sigh*
I suppose I’ll just have to build again! Perhaps a monument to the beauty of some other, less easily-embarrassed subject.”
