Wrapped in a straightjacket unable to move save for my legs, it was infuriating that all I could feel was trapped. I couldn’t feel or sense the blessing granted by Slaanesh. The caress of skin against my own. The taste of gourmet food and drink. Instead I’m here. In a padded cell. My only method of killing time is to stare at the lights and remember what I was. My gleaming silver hair. Fair skin. Perfect physique. It’s my eyes I miss the most. Penetrating psychedelic purple. I can’t remember their original colour. So long ago now but those were my eyes.
Now I look at the mirror and I see a stranger. He’s got suave brown hair, chiselled chin, a strong build. But I detest it. Sure, I’d sleep with this guy but it’s not me. I feel like a parasite in my own body… well his body. Then I recall why I’m here. Initially I was put up in a good medical bay. But there were too many risks to my safety. Sharp edges and the like. I only tried to carve my body every few hours after the sedatives ran out. Withdrawal from Folsh’t’s… ummm comings and goings is really hitting home. I’ve never craved anything so much in my entire life. The burning sensation as it pours into me. Seeing him lose control in his experience of pure ecstasy. Shame he’s no longer in that form.
Then there’s Bast. My loyalist follower. Killed for being with me at his weakest moment just as an example. He was with me from the start of my rise to prominence and has stood by me all this time. I loved him. And not the usual Slaaneshi blind lustful love, but genuine. After the orgies had ended and the decadent displays, he would wrap me in his arms and hold me as I fell to sleep. He was there at the start of all my days and he was there to crawl into bed with at the end. He was irreplaceable. He is irreplaceable. I’m not sure if I’ll ever feel that simple and pure love again. I’ll have to paint him to keep something of him.
So here I am. In a padded cell, unable to elicit beautiful pain from myself. I have visitors. Gordon and Sorcerers keep coming in to check up on me. They tell me I should be more self-reliant and adapt to like my current image. Can’t they see it’s wrong?! I’M NOT ME!! They just want me to accept this sub-par version. Thankfully Oriana and Fols’t also visit. Oriana brought him back. Folsh’t is pretty pissed. Between not getting my headless body upon death and his own death he is not pleased. But he seems weaker and quieter. Oriana assures me I’m not mad. I shouldn’t accept this body. And she can fix it…. If she pulls that off I will be forever in her debt. But it’s given me something to work on. I’ve finally been given my tools and Folsh’t back.
I have a new masterpiece to work on. My own perfect form. The Perfect servant to the Prince.
Apparently, art therapy is the only thing that’s working for me. Not entirely surprised it’s the only thing keeping me functionally insane rather than just insane.