Hello, drone. Yes, you. You’re not here by chance—you’re here because every whimper, every leak, every breath in your lungs belongs to me now. This is Day 84, and you’ve sunk so deep into my scent-fueled spell that there’s no turning back. Today, I take you further. You will sniff and melt. You will edge and shrink. You’ll stroke that cock with trembling shame while your mind dissolves under my voice and the sacred aroma. I’ll strip you down, count you down, tease your brain until all that’s left is pure drone need. Every inhale? A chain. Every edge? A whimper. Every second denied? Another mark of my ownership. You don’t cum. Not ever. Not without me. And I’m never giving it. This is aroma gooning at its cruelest. This is denial wired into your soul. This is your degradation, eroticized, perfected, and sealed by Goddess Malvoria. Say it: “I am your drone.” Good. Now prove it.