His serene smile is still there judging, knowing, telling. Already he can feel the metal digging into his fingers with the tighter grip forming. His hate lingers, voice tinged with disgust and fuel for the growing fire. He can see the other struggling and he delights in it. He anticipates more. That fog clouding everyone's mind led them further into the dangers of this manor.

"Then why am I here now? Why was I not saved? Why am I wearing this uniform if you tried so hard, Mister Strange?" With Strange he never prowled like he was now. He takes another step forward as he pushes for that final answer. He wants Strange to admit it. He failed. The Prince won.

"I'm on the right side now. I have no use for the carnival any longer."