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Shhh. Yes, I know. I do. Trust me. Even as you lie before me, perfectly still and silent, I know. It is difficult to draw breath; you fear you may suffocate. You will not. Such a gentle departure from this world is not in the cards for you, I’m afraid. There is still far too much for us to accomplish—so much to experience. Your burning, unblinking eyes will bear witness. You will hear your body breaking beneath my ministrations. The pain will be torturous—a bright, brilliant agony. It will be maddening, not being able to flinch or flee or cry out. It may well shatter your mind. But that is okay. You’ll still feel every excruciating moment. Together we shall find the unbearable and bear it nonetheless.

Can you smell the sweet, delicious scent of terror bleeding from your pores? Wonderful. Soon it will mingle with the tang of your own blood, and eventually that of your urine and shit as your body fails you. There’s no need to be embarrassed. It happens. It is the way of such things.

Perhaps you were hoping for a less ignominious end? Don’t we all. Alas, this is often outside of our control. But fear not! Even as you are unmade, you are Becoming. You are to be made a gift, hideous and screaming for all eternity. Your cries will shake the foundations and echo among the pillars of the Else forevermore.

Is that not greatness? Is that not a worthy end? To be one of the remembered few among the silent, unremarkable dead? To possess a visage so ghastly that the corpses of millennia shall cower before you, and the Else shall tremble to look upon you? Is that not a grand gift indeed?

Do you not see? Still? Here you are Non. Here you must be broken. Rent. Destroyed. Here you must properly suffer in order to prepare the beyond for the time when your maker returns, triumphant, to rule for all eternity. To reign upon a throne of bones. The Else itself shall kneel before me. The seas will run red. The skies will rain blood. We will drink of your unshed tears and feast upon the tender flesh of the salvation that I have provided. And it will taste of pain.

And you shall sit at my right hand, beautiful in my sight, your screams more lovely than the songs of angels.

But you must first know my cruelty.

And it will be glorious.

You’ll see.

Shall we begin?

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