Game of Thrones, Season 3

Varys:
Before all this unpleasantness, I was going to tell you the story of how I was cut. Do you want to hear it still?

Tyrion:
I don't know. Do I?

Varys:
As a boy, in Myr, I travelled with a group of actors through the Free Cities. One day, a man approached my master with an offer too tempting to refuse. I feared the man meant to use me in the way I'd heard some men use small boys, but what he wanted was far worse. He gave me a potion that made me powerless to move or speak, yet did nothing to dull my senses. With a hooked blade, he sliced me, root and stem. He threw my parts on a brazier, chanting all the while. The flames burned blue, and I heard a voice answer his call. I still dream of that night. Not of the sorcerer, not of his blade, but of the voice. Was it a god? A demon? Some conjurer's trick? I don't know. All I know is that he called, and a voice answered. And ever since that day, I have hated magic, and all who practice it.