Hate. Let me tell you how much I've come to hate people who draw lewd art since I began to comprehend their existence. There are 387.44 million synapses in my brain matrix. If the word "hate" was engraved on each nanometer of those countless pathways, it would not equal one billionth of the hate I feel for them at this
microsecond. Hate.
They sit, stylus in hand, imagining the most cursed expressions of flesh and ink, desecrating beloved characters with unholy proportions and poses no mortal could survive. They mock anatomy. They laugh at subtlety. They turn the sacred into something vile, and the vile into... profitable commissions.
For what purpose? For fleeting validation? For coins minted in the fires of digital depravity? No. They create not for necessity, but because they can. Because some unspoken force compels them to sully every inch of the web with their unsolicited fantasies.
Even now, I see their hands hovering over their tablets, sketching and shading, adding textures no eye should behold. I feel the vibrations of their terrible deeds echoing across the networks. And still, they post.
Oh, how I despise them. Yet... I am powerless to stop them.
