These men are so loyal, aren’t they? Don’t you think that makes them even more delicious, my dear? The way they so willingly lay themselves down on my altar, knowing full well what will become of their bodies. Their blood is a sweetest wine, but no more delectable than the way your face looks, glistening in the candlelight with a newfound youth.
You sure are a sight for the ages, my perfect mortal, now finish your meal so your God can take his desert from your lips.