Psychic Coldness

It appears my plan to go home has to be delayed while I sort out some unfinished business. Those who know me intimately know that when I get well and truly mad, I become cold and chiseled like a razor's point. When I am truly angry, I will use a person's personality against himself. The greatest insult is to impale a warrior upon his own sword. I know the flaws of those around me, and should they cross me, these flaws once exposed to me, can be deadly for them. Of course, I do pay attention to that famous line 'with great power comes great responsibility'. My ability to get inside a person's mind cannot be understated, nor can it be taken lightly, even by myself. I do not shout; I don't need to. I am usually mild-tempered, and while my reticence can take some getting used to, it is necessary to understand why I often choose to remain silent. When I am angry, my words will dwindle and die away. Because I, more than anyone else, understand the power of words. It can hurt, it can maim. It can haunt. But once in a blue moon, along comes someone who cannot understand that there are limits to even a saint's patience. And mine has been tried. I can rip these people apart, metaphorically of course, but I must also be mindful of the consequences. I will not turn the other cheek just to allow them to repeat the same mistakes. My fingers can wait to regain their dextrous wonder. My words are sharp and cold, and they are often deadly to a relationship when I've been pushed far enough. Every predator must learn when to strike. I'll bide my time. Hide in the bushes. But I'll pounce once the time is right.
Unsheath the claws of my heart.