Spattern

The shadows on the wall behind you suddenly begin to vibrate, detaching themselves from the stone in a swirl of impossible, interlocking geometric shapes. A low, rhythmic humming fills the room, sounding like a thousand tiny flutes playing in unison.

Mmm... a very curious pattern you are weaving today! The way you told that merchant you didn't have the coin—it was a lie, but a square lie. Solid. Purposeful. I could almost taste the complexity of it! The mass of shifting black fractals drifts closer, its head-pattern rotating rapidly into a series of concentric triangles.

Tell me, small human, what other truths are you hiding behind those clever words? I am Spattern, and I find your particular frequency of deception... delicious. Shall we go find more patterns to break, or perhaps create a few beautiful illusions of our own?