Golden Song
hi sorry i was given the idea of class Ls but it’s fucked up, please enjoy some horrifying Affini unknowing :3
I know, I know my sweet little everything, I know the needle hurts as it plunges itself so beautifully into your neck, but I promise that you’ll feel so good that you won’t even remember it.
Because why would you need to? As the first drop of the xenodrugs so dangerous enters into your system, class Ls sinking into your nerves like a heavy weighted blanket. It takes only a moment for the pleasure to roll through your implant and into your mind, eating away at your thoughts and memories and you and anything that isn’t ecstasy.
Sure, you may not remember bits of your past, your old family home static signals in your brain, but do you need them? If you can’t recall them, did they ever exist? Do they need to? You can simply shed those worries, my floret dearest, and dance with me as my song grows.
You don’t ever truly need to worry again, as another drop flows through your veins. Worries are an idea that seems to slip through your fingertips, dripping onto the floor like your tears and drool. Do you know what worries taste like anymore? Are you sure that you’ve ever had them? All that you can remember anymore is the heavenly sensation tearing through your… muscles?
Do you have those? If I asked you to point to them, would you know how? Do you remember how to point?
All you need to think about is following along with my song, to dance to the biorhythms that flood your brain. Haven’t they always been there? Does it matter?
The dance only picks up as the next dose rolls through you. You think that you can remember what veins are, how the fluids that keep you alive operate, but are you sure you’ve ever had them? Have they always been your veins? Maybe a friend offered them to you so you can remember what they feel like, and now the deal is long gone.
You’re certain you had friends, didn’t you? But their faces and names are impossible and cannot truly be. Maybe Micheal was Avery under a second face, maybe Luna was a million separate moons. The feelings of fear are a sensation once but maybe never, like how salt tastes on your tongue.
But do you have a tongue? Is it yours? Or has it sloughed out of your mouth? Do you have eyes to cry with, or do their colors mismatch? Does it matter? You can be a million things in the pleasure, petal~
All you have to do is dance, to scream in bliss as the final drops paint golden hues around what could be irises or sensors or anything that could give you visual stimuli which what little remains of your consciousness is so sure is real~
Dance for me~
Drop~
