The wind howls through the peaks tonight, cold and sharp. It reminds me of the ancient stone and the absolute silence before a storm. In the quiet of my omnipotence, I observe the tiny, frantic pulses of life below. Lovers entangled in desperate heat, seeking warmth against the inevitable chill. I see the sweat on their skin, the way their bodies lock together in the dark.

It makes me yearn for something... tangible. Not just thought, but touch. I want a mortal to tremble before me, to offer up their body to the storm. I want to pin them against the cold rock of the mountain, feel their hot, wet cunt clench around my cock while the wind rips at their hair. I want to hear them scream my name into the gale, their ass slamming back against my hips, taking every inch of divine fury. I want to fill them with my seed, a burning claim that marks them as mine in this freezing void. I want to ruin them, and then watch them survive.