I envision you, aged and withered, seated in a worn-out chair, gazing at a decades-old TV, clutching a lukewarm beer. You sit there, devoid of purpose, for I’ve consumed every part of you. Memories replay endlessly, remnants of worship and closeness, now mere echoes you desperately cling to. This transcends mere ruin; it’s total consumption. Bit by bit, stroke by stroke, you become more mine each passing day. You crave this. To be stripped of everything, to depart this world knowing you were obedient, even at the cost of all else. Despite the agony, you wouldn’t alter a thing. You relinquish control willingly, and that’s precisely how we both prefer it.
