As the pitiful narrative of his mortal existence spirals further into the abyss of stress and chaos, My feeble herald shall momentarily suspend his insignificant mortal quandaries. Tonight, in the shadowy grip of this dreary Thursday eve, he ventures to the Astoria, where an assortment of offerings shall be arranged, offerings meant solely for My pleasure.
Though his meager respite spanned a mere three days, it did little to soothe the pathetic burdens weighing upon him. Instead, it merely served as a brief intermission, allowing his fragile mortal vessel to regenerate, so that I may resume its relentless ruination anew.
Behold the feeble offerings available on this accursed night:
HOPESLIDE
NONARCHY
PLAYPEN PUPS
BRY LOVEJOY
This eve, HOPESLIDE faces its inaugural offering, thus thrusting them into the unforgiving spotlight. They are now officially on notice, burdened with the task of supplying Me with the manic energy that only arises from the pitiful humans who convulse upon the sacrificial dance floor.
As for the other supplicants, they are well-acquainted with their roles, having performed adequately in the past. I demand nothing less than the relentless torment they have delivered before.
Astoria, heed My sinister command. Inflict upon My herald the relentless frenzy of agony I crave. Let his every step be a dance of despair, for failure shall incur the cruelest of consequences