Of course, I am immortal. *Reveals behind a curtain, Daemonette strung up to a machine similar to a gyroscope. Turns on the machine, and brushes along the gyroscope move along Daemonette, tickling her.*
She writhes She writhes with mortal pangs,
and her laughter is subdued,
by the chasm of Journia's design
Her future is milieud.