♫ I see a red door
And I want it painted black
No colours anymore
I want them to turn black ♫
Throughout history, every generation has its share of artists that see themselves as visionaries.
Believing they have honed their craft to create a masterpiece. Artists that see form, shape or colour like never before. They paint their world in tones of their own style, etching closer to the artistic perfection they seek.
The artist walks the razor’s edge between brilliance and madness. Any cabrón can slap paint on a canvas and call themselves an artist, but not every artist can paint a masterpiece.
Where others see the bleak expanse of Arcadia in muted tones of dulled colours, Jasper Redgrave, you see but one colour.
You want to paint Arcadia red.
Your brush, tainted with the crimson paint bled from your victims, splatters your canvases, and in your eyes… es hermoso, ¿no?
Where every other shade of red Arcadia provides is so dull, you’ve discovered the way to unlock a new palette, more vibrant than has ever been seen.
To an artist where death is merely an artform, you have meticulously learned to bend mortality itself to your will, creating masterpiece to fill the walls of your gallery.
But the question remains, Jasper… Are you an artistic visionary, or just another madman wielding a knife?
♫ I look inside myself
And see my heart is black
I see my red door
I must have it painted black ♫
You paint your world in hues of your own twisted, blood-red vision, Redgrave.
A journey that has seen you cast into Deathrow, infiltrating the mind of CJ Thorpe until you tasted the different hues of his betrayal against you.
It has seen you tarnish the bright blue vibrant innocence of Aurora against your stark red backdrop of unbridled fear.
It has even seen a crown placed upon your head as you seek to paint Arcadia with that same fear.
Yet you still seek that ultimate masterpiece, that red door which contains your lasting legacy. The notion that you are more than just a murderer.
You’re an artist.
But are you?
♫ Maybe then, I’ll fade away
And not have to face the facts
It’s not easy facing up
When your whole world is black ♫
I do not see the world as you do, Jasper Redgrave, but neither do you hear the world as I.
You are nothing more than a silencer, a mute tarnishing the songs of those that bleed for your art. You interrupt the natural order of death, and meddle with forces that you could not possibly comprehend.
You see a red door, but I want it painted black.
No colours, no vision. Just la musica de la muerte, the song that plays for us all in turn. For with that song, you will finally see as you draw your last breath that death is not a plaything to be meddled to fill your gallery.
It is a song.
And that song will find you.
Can you hear it?
Or are you not enough of a visionary to see the music on the walls?