The walls began swaying back and forth, back and forth. The ceiling tapestry formed new mazes previously undiscovered, previously impossible. Red turned to pink, black switched to blue, reality flirted with insanity. There was knocking at the door. Or was it just a distant sound? No, knocking. It was knocking. Someone was there, someone knew. But they couldn’t know. Nobody could know. It was still the infancy of his evil. He enjoyed doing this. His psychosis made him feel good, made him feel at ease. After a life of strict protocols and difficult rules, this madness was so simple. He was a child again, finding fulfillment through his wildest fantasies. The darkness yielded a light he had never before seen. It couldn’t come to an end, not yet at least. He approached the door with a dripping wet blade in hand. He slurped the blood with an eager tongue. And then it hit him, as the salty liquid traveled down his throat. He had released the monster, engulfed by the fiercest demons. He wasn’t always like this. He was, yet again, delirious.