How does Fyodor Dostoyevsky lie without flinching? 'Cause, all the big mistakes you made, it was for him. That damn puppet play, where you were wrapped around his fingers, like it was nothing.

He said it was true love, but wouldn't that be hard? He can't love anyone 'cause that would mean he had a heart.

And now, a gun in Fyodor's hand, he is willing to sacrifice you, just like that. A bloodsucker, dream crusher, bleedin' you dry like a goddamn vampire.