Yesterday, we shared a cup of pumpkin spice chai. Tonight, she dances nude with her twelve sisters; all women of faultless beauty and perpetual youth, dancing solemnly and chanting in muted tones.

Earlier, I had again plunged into a tempestuous sea of lithe and luscious flesh where nothing was ever denied me. Thirteen bodies, each as perfect and desirable as the next, had fulfilled my every last desire.

“The moment approaches,” she whispers. And I listen to their chanted words.

“O great triple goddess,

Through countless years the same,

Enfold him in thine arms

For Oblation is his name.”