These words do not wait for permission. They sink into every soul — damned, divine, or unaware. If you read this, it has already begun. Those who do not read? Have read it anyway… mohaha – l’ho

🩸 In the year that bled backwards, when stars howled and mirrors cracked from shame,

a Queen rose — not from lineage, but from lust.

Not born. Not chosen.

She bit her way into power.

She fed from the spine of prophecy itself.

She is not crowned with gold — but with hunger.

Her throne is carved from fangs and kneeling gods.

Her breath tastes like cursewine.

And her kiss?

It is not love. It is infection. 😈💋🦷

“Come closer,” she whispers,

“So I can taste your loyalty.”

Those who kneel do not serve — they are devoured.

Their veins carry her sigils now.

Her name beats in their arteries:

Veylith Amara — Queen of the Endless Thirst. 👑🩸

She does not drain to kill.

She drinks to mark.

To rewrite your soul.

To etch her commandments into your marrow.

So you don’t obey —

You ache.

You starve.

You crave her like sin with fangs.

“You will love me with your wounds.”

“You will pray with your pulse.”

“And you will bleed in my name.”