Poor, poor boy. Look at you down there, writhing around among the dead. Covered in blood that doesn't all belong to you, your guts hanging out. Are you still looking for your arm, by chance? Don't bother, even if you could dig through all that gore and find it there'd be no point. But you know all about pointless things, don't you? Your whole life was an exercise in futility. Look how its ending, after all. You dying in agony, looking up at me upon my throne, a throne I made from the bodies of men that caught my eye more than you did. Stronger, more handsome...the man beneath me has a remarkable chest. His life wasn't futile like yours was, was it? What a privilege it is for him to serve as his Goddess' seat.

But you, you're just a curiosity. I have to confess, its fairly surprising you've clung to life as long as you have. You probably thought you were going to be one of the lucky ones, didn't you? I know all about you men. Oh, you can all claim work so diligently at building up all this muscle for the sake of overpowering me but I know why you really do it. You boast, brag and flex to one another, telling outlandish stories about how you'll force me down and ravage me. But that's not what its really all about, is it? I know that in your thoughts and perhaps even some whispers you exchange with your best friends that you really want to be as striking as you can in hopes of being one of those imminently fortunate boys who I let have a taste of me. There are men like that, you know. And I do let them have a taste, a touch. And I take what I want from them in turn. You were probably excited to have survived so long, thinking I'd chosen you. You must have an active imagination. Look at whats left of you, did you think you'd stand out even amongst this sorry horde? None of you were worthy enough for that, although there were more than enough fine slabs of meat to build myself this throne. Besides, I like my prizes to be intact and that is hardly the term I'd use to describe you right now.

I suppose your longevity deserves something, though. You can watch then, my precious little soldier. Watch as I stretch out and relax here upon my throne. They didn't deserve anything more in life, but these boys should be entertaining enough in death. You can watch me explore them a bit with my hands. I don't believe any will be worth having a taste of, but maybe I'll discover something. Lay there and think about how you should have worked harder, how maybe if you had you'd be among them. Or maybe even have been worthy of me. Then you wouldn't be among them, you'd be beneath me. Those should be pleasant thoughts to accompany the sight of me as you bleed out, no? And don't stop the whimpering or the screaming. Maybe you can cry for your dead brothers again. Try not to die too quickly, this may take some time and I'm quite tired. I would very much like to be sung to sleep by your anguish, boy.