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The metathread is filled with sorrow and yearning for better times, so let's have some reposted /tg/ storytiem.

Cultist had been afforded a few hours to recover after her last biochemical treatment, which had culminated in her laying a large egg for the amusement of Asdrubael Vect. With a sore pelvis and a constant ache throbbing in the more delicate parts of her physiology, she had spent her time up to now curled in the corner of her cell, sobbing quietly. Footsteps the other side of her door signified the arrival of a jailor, and she hugged her knees more tightly as the door swung open, admitting harsh white light in contrast to her cell's inky darkness.

"Get up, maggot". The voice issued from the improbably pointy helmet of an incubus. It soon became clear that he had no intention of waiting for her to stand of her own accord, his boots clacked on the floor slabs as he strode over to her, grabbed a fistful of her lank, purple hair, and yanked her to her feet. Cultist yelped at the sharp tugging of her scalp, and, in retort, the incubus backhanded her across her face. A pair of metal studs caught her on the cheek and scored two thin cuts into her grubby skin. Droplets of blood beaded along them.