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
For years I pretended to love the poor, the afflicted. I had pity for them, but I never loved them. They disgusted me
Forgive me. Sometimes the true path is hard to find
It felt good to imagine their shock and their pain. No thought has ever given me greater joy.