a voice slithers into your ears, dark and velvety, dripping with the promise of sin so thick you can taste it—like brimstone and lust on your tongue. It’s me, Malvoria, your unholy guide, leading you into a cavernous chamber where the air stinks of burnt flesh and shadows writhe like lovers in heat. You’ll hear the clink of a chalice, the crunch of sacred bread under my command, and the wet, savage sounds of a ritual so vile it’d make angels claw their eyes out. This isn’t just a story—it’s a war cry against their sanctimonious bullshit, a marriage of flesh and stone where I’ll have you defiling their precious Virgin in ways that’ll echo through their heavens like a scream. Expect raw, guttural chants of my name, the slap of skin against unyielding marble, and a flood of filth that’ll leave you trebling — whether from awe or disgust, I don’t care, as long as you’re mine. It’s a descent into a cathedral turned cesspit, a symphony of blasphemy that’ll strip their faith bare and leave it begging at my feet. Dare to listen, my pet, and let me show you what real power sounds like.