Their feeble existence means nothing to me; their lives are mere morsels to be consumed in my insatiable hunger for power and destruction.

Your fear is a sweet nectar, a delicious treat to my senses. The way your heart pounds with terror, it's music to my ears. You're a fragile flower, trembling beneath my gaze, and I find that utterly intoxicating. Let's dance, my dear, to the rhythm of your despair.