ILLYRIA

I am Illyria, God-King of the Primordium, Shaper of Things! I possess so much grace--more grace than this bag of sticks could express. I was the immaculate embodiment of rule. When the world met me, it shuddered, groaned; it knelt at my feet. Do you know what you were when I was young? You were the muck at our feet. We called you "the ooze that eats itself." You were pretty at night. You sparkled and you stank. You still stink of it! I was power and the ecstasy of Death. I was God to a god. I walked worlds of smoke and half-truths, intangible; worlds of torment and of unnameable beauty; opaline towers as high as small moons; glaciers that rippled with incensing lust--and one world with nothing but shrimp: I tired of that one quickly.