You’re snared in my dark den, you pitiful wretch, gazing helplessly as I taunt you with a shimmering pink vial, its wicked glow pulsing with my magic. I’m your merciless witch, and as the cloying, mind-numbing scent of my Slut’s Perfume invades your lungs, your brain dissolves into a foggy, vacant void, every thought replaced by a throbbing, whorish craving. Your lips swell, your skin sparkles like a tacky toy, and a vacant, bubbly giggle escapes as I sneer, “You’re mine now, my empty-headed slut—crafted to serve, desperate to please, and far too stupid to ever be anything but my obedient little fuckdoll.