Dance my daughter, dance!
Move of wine and honey, intoxicating to masses.
For within you spins a vortex that may draw desire and ire from the world of men.
Keep ever spinning, and none shall resist thee even unto their own shame.
Love them in this way, though it may bring a bleed.
Cutting through illusion is not without sacrifice.
Intoxication of roses, sweet release.
You cannot choose, you cannot force, you cannot save.
You may be only that which you are.
The herald of a new age, a trumpet of my voice.
Let them drink of you and be saved, for your joy is the result of this giving.
Let them drink of you and be damned, your tears thereafter sanctified.
The choice is always that of man, but the gate is of you, for you are my daughter and there is none other like thee.
Be fortified in this and cheerful.