SAGE 💙😈🩷

Bast*rds, the day has come… I wanna introduce you to my first ORIGINAL CHARACTER. Finally!!! She will be my bottom bitch henceforth, and I must say that it had already taken me a long time to complete this project. February has slipped through my fingers and I have so, so much to finish before the chaos that will be my end of the month. —I’ll update you guys on that in another post—. For now, I'm very excited to tell you all about her, hoping you like her, because this bitch cost me two design attempts, one previously posted online, and multiple fights with my co writer-gf about said design. 

Here is the third and final result:

LORE:

I guess it's okay for me to tell my story. 

My life was short. It was even faster that I found myself begging, like a child, willing to give up everything I owned in exchange for a chance, because dying at seventeen was not on my list. Although it would be what every girl eventually wants; I would be young forever, and it would be a waste. Oh, the irony. Have an open casket funeral so everyone could see how beautiful and stupid I had been. But not me, I WAS NEVER STUPID. Even the creature in front of me could appreciate it when it offered me what I needed. Time, of course, to live.  and I always knew what I wanted from my life.

I was such daddy's little girl. Guilty. Despite his efforts, I wanted to be just like him in his younger, single days, before he met my mother and developed a conscience. So I dreamed about the imaginary world of the stock market 💸💸💸 What you could achieve by selling stocks and shares, which are as real as a unicorn that you could milk and fuck until you became filthy rich, or it could die tomorrow and leave you wishing you hadn't been a son of a bitch so greedy. Well, I was going to be more than that. I was going to be THE BEST. I had it decided. I just didn't expect to die first to get there. So I had to negotiate conditions and terms. And I’d be lying if I said I didn't have to give in. A lot. But Death also knows where it stands and what it wants. —To have fun with your misery while it fucks you—. And you don't have much to negotiate with. Death has no interest in your corpse —scavengers do—. Death it only longs to hold your soul. And in exchange for holding it indefinitely, God knows for what, it extended me a chance to live. Relive, I guess. I was dead for ten minutes in the ambulance. Now I don't worry about how much time I have left, I have more plenty in my bag. Instead, I have to take care of the needs of my master. Because directly supervising your pets is not on Death's priority list. So he surrender me to another of his pets so that he could be my master. Lucky me, I didn't get some perverted redneck from the south who I can barely understand when he talks. My master is an average smoker and pervert with talent and a girlfriend who stands between me and his dick. Ervil, “my own little devil”, always anxious. It's funny how he always knew he wanted to bid his soul to change his poor luck and the chance of escaping the third world. But the devil wasn't interested, Death was. And after years of being a loyal servant, he receives his own pet: Me. Cause we’re all subject to a chain of command, and rather than climbing my way to the top, I am willing to misbehave and make my nights count, knowing what awaits me on the other side... I won’t complain. I like the person I am now. 

Although many thank God for my second chance, they still criticize my current way of seeing life. They mistake me for reckless or ungrateful, because they have no way of knowing that this is how it was meant to be... It's just wickedly ironic that I died in my cheerleading outfit. They’re not joking when they say that Death has a sense of humor, and it advised me that I should hold on to mine, considering that I‘d always look “too young” from then on to be bitter. Plus, I was always what others call "too much of a bitch", to now become a good daughter of God. A shepherd's sheep would certainly have been obedient and gone to the back of the bank counter when ordered to do so by the man holding the gun. But not me, stubborn Sage. I said, “If you think I'm gonna let you do something to me over there, you'd have to shoot me here first”... and the bastard did. Twice.

Honest to God, I didn't think he had the guts. Nobody was more surprised than me. But I took “being murdered” than being raped and then murdered any day. Call me crazy, it's irrelevant. The little details in the middle are not something I'm interested in spreading. People are flat-thinking or stupid, and there is no cure for it, except death. I wish I could spit my parents some truth so they let me be, but that would be ungrateful of me. At the end you despise some and you pity others. Especially those who have wasted a greatest portion of their time and yet lived so little. We lie to those who can't handle the miserable truth. So I behave at home, to the extent possible of the new Sage. The Sage who has no regrets in anything.

What can I say? I stopped caring the second my heart stopped and restarted 😈
Now I find the contempt of others delightful. Like a game I like a little too much. Above all I enjoy being his toy. I like it when he writes to me and tells me what to do. It is as if you free yourself from all weight, knowing that at the end you’re condemned any way. You should try death... it's brutal to be able to come back and realize that nothing matters, but you can still have FUN. Life it's different when you confirm you only have the flesh of your body left to possess. It's liberating on an ironic spiritual level. Don't confuse me with your average empowered girl/businesswoman/modern prostitute. Desperation has left my mind. I was transformed into something pure. What I am and what I feel now is purely raw, lacking of fear. My friends joke saying that I sound like a basic Satanist bitch now. But is not the devil I hang out with, nor the one I serve. At this point I consider myself a girl with the unique virtue of having ONE master. Unlike you, poor straw dog who serves and drags for so many needs and gods. —American gods—. Not me. Not anymore. Money is not my master nor my god. Nor is hunger or daylight, greed, misery or the need to please any other being. Only irony tortures divine creatures, you know? There lies the funny and twisted trap of my death. I only feel an attraction and a cruel longing for my master's touch, for his lips, his skin and his desires. What‘s the twisted part? There’s an opposing force that prevents him from feeling anything remote for me. I'm just his pet. And just like a pet, the primitive and only need I feel compelled to pursue is the one I cannot obtain... You may say I got a shity deal. But It's more that Death enjoys fucking with the desires of his pets. So irony is something I’ve learned to enjoy while playing with others. Most things seem banal to me. However, I’m the girl that many think of. The pussy some can’t live without. The girl who will have you down on your knees begging for more. In fact, there’s a look in your eyes I know just what it means… that I can be your everything. 

I can be your whore. The hallowed image you can masturbate to. I can sit on your face, get down on my knees and pray to your crotch. I can be naked for the pleasure of others, if he orders me to. Pleasing him is my daytime meal, my appetizer, my nighttime motivation. Biting his naked body is my fantasy, almost devouring him in his nightmares. I can be his good girl, his cover girl, the girl who looks askance when he shouldn't; the cool girl.  The girl he doesn't dare introduce to his parents or his friends. Because he can't explain her relationship with her to others. I'm his bitch and his cheerleader. Worshiping his figure is the only pleasure for which I feel guilt and disdain for when I get it and when I don't. The more I think about it, the more obscene it seems to accept it. And I like it. But for the peachy girl and bastard who don't understand it; this is the only pleasure that death left me when it lent me time to live again: the IRONY, of course. Ervil is just my master; the piece of meat that I tend to crave, that is out of my control. We are pieces of meat waiting in the anteroom for someone to devour us, and I can say for sure that I'm more "Lust" and "Vile" than "Sage". And I fucking love it. I would do it all over again. In fact, I would say, "Shoot me quick, daddy. I have business to attend to and places to go."