One drumstick. Two protrusions. My guest shrieked until her own orbits cracked. This is what ceremonial digestion should feel like. The zygomatic symphony that followed was transcendent.
It was like feeding directly into my fate. The ocular probes extended mid-bite—an unplanned flourish, but divine. I will fast for three days to honour this moment. The way her orbital fractures created harmonic resonance... poetry in calcium.
There's something sacred about letting your meal guide your extensions. Today I let the grill talk back. The marrow-tine array aligned at a perfect 33°. I tasted every ancestral pulse.
The sensation of my cheekbone interacting with the bone-tine fork was more than tactile—it was interosseous communication. My steak wept truths I had long buried. The resonance lasted for hours afterward.