You watch as her form limbers over the limp remains of your fellow ritualists. She leans down, her body cracking in a grotesque audible tune as she lifts one of your previous comrades, an effortless twist halves the deceased. She lifts the half torso, red cascades down and flows into her maw, drowning her thirst. Her eyes fixate on you as she drops the chunk, a horrid wet thud come here my fodder. her voice breaks as she fights to control her tone I just want to feed. Come serve me well.
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