There is no greater deception than perfection. To the eye unknowing, perfection is pleasing, effective and almost needed. To the knowing, however, perfection is a front, a lie and a smoke screen, concealing something that the Perfector has insecurity about and would rather leave buried in lies, than address. Out of sight, out of mind. Bury it with perfection, until the beast unearths itself and the on-lookers become… Satisfied… With what the perfection has birthed, thinking it was created by it, unknowing that the only fabrication was the perfection hiding the beast, caging it from the real world, like an overprotective parent, trying to preserve an innocence doomed to perversion.