Do you know what punishments I've endured for my crimes, my sins? None. I am proof of the absurdity of men's most treasured abstractions. A just universe wouldn't tolerate my existence.
The perfect killer has no friends. Only targets.
The perfect killer has no conscience.
The perfect killer has no identity.
Hope is the great deceiver. Hope is the piper who leads us sleepy to our slaughter.
'The Black Prism' is a story about two brothers who respect and fear and admire and contend with and shape each other. In other words, it's a story of normal brothers - who happen to be in extraordinary circumstances.
I think that fiction is an excellent place for us to struggle with questions of good and evil, and humanity and inhumanity.
