I was dragged from my bed last night and cast into this mess. I stood under the cold, glittering eyes of the goddess, and confronted not just the corpse but all of it, and was entirely grown up and controlled about finding my own face on the east wall of a room fabricated to my own mendacious design and purporting to be an ancient treasure of magic, presently containing a dead princeling in five easily portable sections. I sat on my horror, on the echoing and nauseating sense the Chamber evoked in me that I had somehow betrayed my son by not being there for his death, and my sense that he betrayed me in the same way. I was equal to all that, and I think we can agree that it was a masterwork of self-discipline and calm.