I am a fool.
No, don't argue. Please don't. Let me first explain, and then you will have nothing left to say. You won't be able to look at me - oh, it's not easy now, for certain - my vertigris being such a distasteful color. And my hair, oh I haven't brushed it in days ... perhaps it has leaves tangled in it from falling, falling from the sky. My eyes are too sharp - yes, I know, they are big and dark with too-long lashes and a permenantly dark frame, looking like I'm obssesive with eyeliner. And not mention the sharp angle of my nose, my face, my very limbs. You must notice that it looks as though I barely eat - these days, it's quite true. I have no appetite.
Did I ever like anything about me? Anything at all? That's a peculiar question. Everyone has something they must like.
I can tell you what it was, with me. Fiyero. And don't laugh, don't scowl either. I know it was wrong, that's what I've been trying to say! I'm trying to explain.
You meant about my looks, though. Please! Why must we, as a human race- yes, I am human - be so obssesed with the outside of things. This fictional thing called beauty ... it could be the very thing that put me on the path to this destruction. Yes, I'll tell you why...
But, oh, alright! My lips, I suppose. Strange, isn't it? But the color is always vibrant, strangely a bright-red in such contrast to the green in my skin. In theory, the combination looks odd... but I like it.
Why does it matter? ... You won't answer me.
Fine, I'll begin my story, which isn't really worth hearing anyway. You should just accept the pure facts.
I'm wicked now, and wicked I will stay.