Let's ignore that this creature is a master-manipulator and genius executioner of cunning plans.
Allow me to bask in my divinity for a few moments.
That was nice.
Now for an uncomfortable bump back to reality.
Finian is using my autistic stealth bombs against me.
Phrases about worms turning and the servant becoming the master are bitch-slapping me around the head with gleeful wickedness.
It's no way to treat a small god.
I was in the process of getting my Imp of the Devil a healthy
Except his was "first hot chocolate, then chocolate toast" (you seeing a common theme here??).
Frankenstein has nothing on me.
He just cobbled together a lumbering jigsaw of mismatched body parts (I suspect the same blueprint has been used to create many of us) who suffered from poor dental hygiene and parental separation anxiety.
Finian has no such problems.
I think my work here is done.