They don’t understand… our names are no longer us. Our personas define us. We were cast away by those that were supposed to love, praise, heal, cure us. They had the power to help us and they let us fall. Edward no more belongs to be then any other name of any other vagrant. The puzzles are my lively hood. My escape from the harsh reality that we are nothing. We have nothing. We punish those who pushed us away along with those who never got the chance to know us because they’re all the same. They walk our streets. We are the scum that they create, but those who are the cause are truely the lowest of all. Edward is a name of violence l convenience. Nygma is a falsehood of choice. Riddler is a mask with which to hide, but Nashton is more foreign to me than the Icelandic language to which I have no need. These titles are my roots, but that are not who I’ve venue l become.
How are you feeling today, Eddie?
Mmm. The headache has gone. That’s something.