Live your best life, ребята

I flip through the pages, он допивает вторую кружку чая.
You know, у тебя on the second page дважды "patricide", хотя по смыслу должно быть "regicide".

He carelessly places his cup on the scattered sheets; the cup now hides a nice little ring of brown.
All the same, он отвечает, и не flippantly, а вполне серьезно.
The skin and muscle of his face become unbearably transparent, now more of a thin mist than the blood and tissue they were a moment ago.
Through his waning features I see a perfectly white skull. I can't help but smile: the skull's position inside his transparent head seems comical to me.
The skull smiles with me with its empty eyes. I suddenly realize that the skull's unmoving "face" is nothing like his human face. At the same time, it's identical to countless skulls that came before it.