

Happy Thursday, pet.
A good boy knows my mere presence floods his pathetic life with joy—because I allow it. That’s why he scrambles to be better: to earn another breath of my air, another crumb of my attention.
You are lucky. Grateful. Addicted.
Gifts? Worship? Financial servitude? Obviously. My spirit, my essence, this goddess-tier intellect—you couldn’t afford me if I priced it. But here you are, obsessed, mesmerized by my dominance, my cruelty, the way I make you ache just by existing.
This is your journey, worm. Relish the sadism. The desperation. The way your knees weaken when I smirk. Be open. Wider. Pathetic.