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Summary
You feel Scylla's overwhelming presence close the distance between you. She says something—your capacity for language is lost, but you know the shape of the command in her voice—and you open your eyes to the menacing, gorgeous sight of her. Her tentacles move languidly to embrace you, her bloodshot eyes stare right into yours, and from behind her smile, framed by her spear-sharp teeth, she is singing to you, and only you. So grateful you are for her undivided attention that you shiver underneath her, violently enough that tears well in the corners of your eyes. But the gut-wrenching tremor that takes hold of you now is not rooted in gratitude alone. It is just as much the dizzying thrum of anticipation, sown by the declarations intimated in Scylla's lyrics—as she explains, in painstaking detail, each and every thing she intends to do to you.