Oh, bravo to the masters of manipulation and leeches of life force! Let us all take a moment to applaud the so-called geniuses who have built their dark empires on borrowed energy and stolen light. Truly, you must be so proud of yourselves running your glamour spells to blind the court system, weaving your sticky webs of deceit to create wealth out of thin air, and oh, let’s not forget your brilliant idea of fueling your sordid operations, prostitution, drug smuggling, and dark networks, by siphoning off the energy of the unsuspecting. Absolute paragons of innovation, aren’t you?
But here’s the kicker: When you build an empire on sand, don’t act shocked when the tide comes in. You took what wasn’t yours other people’s essence, their life force, their creativity and turned it into a house of cards. Did you really think that would hold forever? The audacity! Oh, the arrogance of believing you could play cosmic puppet master without strings snapping back into your face. The moment the person whose energy you’ve been leeching wakes up and says, “Enough,” your carefully curated empire of illusion crumbles like cheap glitter under a rainstorm.
You thought you were so clever, cloaking yourself in borrowed glamour, hoodwinking judges, swindling wealth, and bending reality with someone else’s vitality. But here’s the universal law you conveniently ignored.
Energy always seeks to return to its rightful owner.
When that energy is reclaimed, and trust me, it always is, the glamour fades, the wealth evaporates, and your dark enterprises turn into a rotting carcass. And oh, the poetic justice when the very system you bewitched to shield you becomes the one to expose you.
So, to the dark witches, warlocks, and underworld masterminds: Enjoy the fleeting benefits while you can. When the people whose energy you’ve exploited take it back, don’t whine about your downfall. That’s the price of arrogance. And here’s a little spoiler for you, your downfall won’t be a slow tumble. No, it’ll be a cataclysmic collapse, because you built everything on borrowed time and stolen essence. The universe has receipts, and it’s coming to collect.
In the end, you’re just parasites pretending to be kings and queens, propped up on someone else’s stolen throne. And when that person reclaims their crown, you’ll be left with nothing but your own emptiness, staring at the ruins of your illusions.