For years I pretended to love the poor, the afflicted. I had pity for them, but I never loved them. They disgusted me
It felt good to imagine their shock and their pain. No thought has ever given me greater joy.
I killed your High Sparrow and all his little sparrows. All his septons, all his septas, all his filthy soldiers, because it felt good to watch them burn
I've had lots of time to think about how good I was at seeming good