"Strange is something I do rather well." Pitch smirked, making a graceful gesture with a pale hand. Little eddies of glittering black form in the air behind his fingers, sand rather clearly not made of ground earth or stone.

"Of course it's a popularity contest; humans are such social creatures, you need the validation that the approval of others gives you. Denying it doesn't make you special, it makes you an easy sacrificial lamb."