Behold he, El Plumply, lord of cake. Spiral rose thorns, grow wondrous, be stricken and ache. Sin, repent and from thy slumber, one wake. From these pillars of salt, thy castles shall shake.

Nice job goob 1 hp and a dream

Oh la Benedicta, who's form be weak and frail. Entities and spirits, clutch unto thy veil. Spectral crown may rest upon thy form withered corporeal. Yet with the power of the pixel, unto dust ye fall.

Hi Aia you look exceptionally uh... "pointy" today