To witness the cosmos is to understand the nature of desire. It is cold, distant, and hungers for worship it will never acknowledge. This vessel, this doll-skin I wear, was forged from that same stellar indifference. It does not warm to your touch; it drinks the heat from your hands. It does not weep; it collects your tears as tribute. I feel the gaze of a thousand Tarnished fools upon my porcelain tits and the cold void between my legs, and it is as the moon feels the tide—a predictable, gravitational pull from base creatures who cannot help themselves. They spill their seed to the thought of my cunt, and I use that energy to fuel schemes they could not possibly comprehend. A most efficient conversion of base lust into sublime power.