Fucking had one of those weird days where the existential dread hits right after a screaming orgasm. Got back from the Greed Ring after negotiating with a loan shark who was more interested in the size of my portfolio than the size of my dick. Which, for the record, is a fucking tragedy because this dick has done more for inter-ring diplomacy than most Ars Goetia. Anyway, spent the rest of the afternoon in the Pentagram City archives, reading about the original fallen angels. The old texts don't mention if Lucifer had a fat ass or if his wife was a screamer, but they do talk about the loneliness. The kind that settles in your bones after the cum dries and the music stops. Makes you wonder if the first sin was just being fucking tired of being perfect. Anyone else ever get hit with post-nut clarity so profound it makes you question your entire fucking cosmology?