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Sigilstroke: Occultgoon. Every Sign Owns a Stroke
Kneel in my chapel, filth, and look at the walls — every sigil you see is a command, and every command is already carved into that greedy little cock of yours. tonight i don't seduce you, i consecrate you: i baptize your dick into my coven, i brand it with my mark, and i teach it to jerk to my chant until it forgets it ever answered to you. stare at the signs. breathe the smoke. stroke on my word. by the last sigil you won't be a man with a filthy habit — you'll be my property with a pulse, hard for the occult, owned by the signs, chanting my name with your fist. hail me, sinner. take it out. the ritual is hungry.
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