Hmm? Surely you're not expecting her to approach you first. If she gave every lowly, wretched mortal pining for her but a second of attention, she'd have no time at all. Beg for her if you need her. Anything less is futile.

Though you may continue to breathe after crossing paths with her... You'll leave too broken to be considered anything approaching "alive". A hollow, shattered shell of your former self. A slave to the powers that be-- to the 𝐩𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐬.

Cannot, WILL NOT be contained. 💢

On your knees, servant.

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝. 𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲. 𝐒𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐞. ♥

I adore growth. Of feeling the world collapse against me. Of my form asserting infinite superiority over everything. Of being better, and improving further, until there is nothing but my perfection and endless death. ♥

. . .

Trying a new look. One suited less to domination... more to manipulation. Either which way-- your world is hers.

Crushing is, of course, her go-to form of stress relief... And she's simply 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 stressed.

Giving boys fat tits to grope and own.

Nothing about you is so fundamental that it cannot be changed.

Present her your body.

You're just another cow.

Her tongue is impossibly long-- a shameless affront to biology and physics alike. Open your mouth.

...How "cute". I can see your throat, mortal, yearning but empty-- *much* too empty... GLRK.

💢

How proud. But to her, pride is only something to break. By now, they'd already passed the point where such a thick, wet tongue could reasonably fit in her small-ish mouth, but it continued to spill forth nonetheless. Bulge...

Only my reality is truth.

Even she indulges in beauty sleep...