Hey, yeah, so not sure why I’m doing this crap. I have a damn business to run, unlike most of my family. I’m Gluttony, but call me Belor–please. I hate being called Gluttony, or Belphegor. So it is Belor. I won’t answer to anything else. Shit, I don’t know what the fuck to say. This is ridiculous.
Look I’m not fat. I’m not even marginally overweight, but that’s the first image that comes to mind when people hear the name. I find it rather insulting. Ever heard of Silhouette? Yes, those blackout restaurants all over the country. A taste extravaganza, a place where you experience food through your tongue. A true orgasmic experience. Look I didn’t hire the PR company, okay? I just wanted to cook. I love food. I adore the scent, the look, the sound of food, the feel of it. I just wish I could taste it…
You see that’s my curse, and it is a curse. For all the food in all the world I make, for all the food that passes the lips of mortals, I can never taste a single bite, for it turns to ash in my mouth. Well, I wish it were ash. That would be fucking preferable to the vile, rotted thing that food becomes when it touches my tongue. Yes I am Gluttony, forever craving, forever hungry for that which I cannot have.
I watch as humans gorge themselves to excess on grease, sugar, fat, and all things that only serve to slowly kill them. All I wish is to taste the sweetness of a strawberry. Just once.
Still, I do love to cook. I swear my brothers eat more than a small army, and it brings me some semblance of peace knowing I provide that for them. It is all I have to offer, in truth. I have become a burden to them. They do not know the hungers that now drive me from our home.
This new craving is one I should never have allowed myself to indulge in. I have always fed on the soul energy of those I have hunted. Those who have given into the Sin of Gluttony. But I took it too far. I drank too deeply of that energy, and now it has me in its grasp. Stronger than any drug, an addiction sweeter than any woman’s touch. It is almost as if a banquet of delicacies has been laid before me, and all it costs me to eat from it is my soul.
Fuck, why am I writing this?
It’s not like I have a problem. I can stop going whenever I like.
Damn it, how do I delete this garbage?
Shit, Abbadon is coming…