Once upon a time, there was a king who was very lonely and very angry and very mad. And to appease his madness, the talented child of the king's right-hand advisor told him stories and used words to talk away the pain, and it worked, and the king became happy again. But one day, or one month, or one century, that teller of stories realized that this illusion of a happy ending fooled only the king. For the storyteller, it was a gold-covered prison, because you can't bullshit a bullshitter, and the storyteller knew it would be lies for as long as life endured. The storyteller was tired of lying. The storyteller wanted out. The storyteller ran.

And the king followed after.

Yes, yes I do.