light yagami's psych ward roommate

I was never interested in music or film because I think people make too much noise as it is. I like subtle things grown from lonely, dedicated, quiet lives, not oil on canvasses depicting fat-arsed bitches, landscapes and famous stallions, bright and garish with either no message or a weak one; but delicate stitches, mathematics spiralling around the human form, woven fabrics which take months to create, and all for the most simple and honest purpose. Something where a centimetre mistake or a slip of the hand or a flaw in the materials or execution, ruins the whole thing. Something was is fit and cut and painstakingly crafted for one person and makes them a work of art. It doesn't wear you, it becomes you. It's the ultimate aesthetic virtue. When you find it, it says: 'This is the best I can achieve. I could do no better for an emperor or a god, and I made it for you in return for a fistful of paper and for the love of it. This is the best. You are the best.' It seems stupid, but sometimes it was all I could cling to in a world full of evil and hatred which began to pour from me, despite myself. Feeling that sewn together cloth, seeing my new skin and and myself streamlined in the mirror like a cold-blooded shark, renewed my belief in that childish hope for a better world. God knows that there's little else which attested for anyone else's beauty of mind. And when I wore a bespoke suit, it became armour to me. People treated me with respect, they noticed me, I got offers. 'Do this and I'll give you something you want.' I did it. I felt dirty at first, but that was all. I didn't see what the fuss was about and why they'd want so little from me, but after I'd showered and put on that suit again, I was beautiful once more; my cause was beautiful, my martyrdom was beautiful, and I was made clean again. You could say that my wardrobe has been my greatest, truest friend. In it, is my pride in myself.