You never should have tried to steal the heart. You knew it was wrong, you knew the dangers, but something about it just… called to you. The heart of efforithea was the crown jewel of this temple, the temple of lust. It also just so happened to have a black market bounty of four million obols for its deliverance to the wealthy banker, your employer, whose eye, like the eyes of all others who gaze upon its electric beauty, it had caught. That kind of money would have payed off all your debts, and most importantly, would have allowed you to finally end your life of odd jobs (most crimes), and pursue your true calling: painting. Ever since childhood you had a knack for the arts, the brush your sole outlet for the many struggles of your early life. When your father lost his job at the royal engineer’s corps, you painted. When your parents divorced, you painted. When the family farm was sold, what did you do? You painted. Most painfully of all when your father was crushed in the construction accident at the amphitheater, you had nothing else, nobody else to turn to but your brushes and meager selection of paint, the range of pastel colors you loved to work with, adding much needed color to a life, itself painted in various tones of grey. All the shady deals you made, all the nights you spent rummaging through the houses of politicians, all these immoral acts and more, where in pursuit of this dream. After this last job you would finally have had enough to travel to Athens and take a position as an apprentice to one of the finest masters of the age. Your paintings would be displayed in the houses of kings across the great sea. Alas, you appear to have landed in an unfortunate situation, a recurring theme in your life it seems