May all of your greatest perversions become reality, My Lord.

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Hello, this is an automated answering for your faving of the story A Drink of Desire

Why automated dad?

Because we don't have time to go around and thank them all in a special way

Can we sned them a cupcake with the message so it doesn't seem so bunt?

They wouldn't be able to eat a digitally cupcake Pinkie, now let me finish this

Fine mister grumpypants

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  To a low flickering light I awoke one more time. My hand moves to the side of the wooden desk, I strain to keep it steady as I make another scratch. I don't know what they mean anymore. At one time I had hoped they were a count of days, but it's likely more accurate just to say they are the number of times I slept. There is no day; there is no night, just darkness and quiet scratching, and the clink of chain every now and then. I move back to the uncomfortable wooden chair that has become my home. The own chain clinks as the shackles around my ankle remind me again of their presence, as if their biting cold grip would ever allow me to forget.

  I warm my hands over the dark fire that dances upon the candle at the corner of my desk. There isn't much warmth to receive from this strange and eerie flame, nor did it give out much light. Just enough to do what was intended of us. And what was intended was clear. Quills, ink, and piles of scrolls were scattered over the desks surface, many already used. Is it weeks I've scratched at these regal scrolls, this torturous routine that holds my days? Perhaps months? Maybe years? Frustration grips me and I quake with rage, to cry out against this fate bestowed upon me for reasons unknown. I open my mouth to scream but its another's voice that rings out!

I had choked on the first words I'd tried for so long but someone else had not. I stood and turned, staring out into the darkness. I meant to join my voice to his, but where frustration had grown strong now fear took over, and I cowered behind my desk. The candle flames grew, sparked, and hissed in anger! A black wind blew and gathered them in a twirling storm of eerie fire.

   "Who dares?!" Spoke a voice in thunderous roar, "All I have provided for you who are my favoured ones, who dares to speak against me? By my flame have I inspired your visions, given you what you wished for most, immortal work at your treasured transcripts! The only price your freedom! A quaint and misleading concept in which only fools believe. I've saved you from its great deception and given you everything you require to dream, to write, to pursue without want. For you who wish your mortality back, I shall give it back to you, for you who wish for true freedom I shall grant that as well. Ungrateful wretch!"

   And then the swirling, burning vortex of fire consumed the soul, until it was a writhing mess upon the floor. And in that terrible light we saw ourselves, thousands upon thousands of souls chained, and cowering. We hastily took back our quills and scratched at scrolls. Enslaved to our own inspirations, the fortunate few to incur the favour of the Lord of Dark Flames...

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