What have I become? Was it always like this? Too many lost memories, and pain of growing so cold. They use my skills and leave me with emptiness. I loathe all of them, always taking. I would love to make them suffer the way I have suffered. Some race that I despise will be once again at my blackened world.
The primitive beings inhabiting this forsaken rock will always fear me for what I do. I never oppressed them in my travels. I have tried through the centuries to show them that I bear no ill will to them. In their fear they revere me as a Goddess. They make sure I am cared for, and consult me when dealing with off worlders. Though, I do not receive much company out here in the outer rim.
Enough with the past for now. It must intrigue and mortify you what I do. Some call it interrogation. To others it is torture. Call it what you will, but I still enjoy implementing it. Upset someone in a position of power, and I will take great pleasure in loosening your tongue. My loins burn at the thought of you trying resist divulging your secrets to me. What sensitive political information do you hold? Are you a dissident leader planning to stage an uprising? Top military prisoner with strategic or classified information? Matters little to me what your status or faction. Once you are here in my cold clinical abattoir, I will revel in your immolation.
As much as I would like to entertain such thoughts. I truly want something more than to be locked away like a monster. I want my freedom. Too long have I been shackled here with this flattering and ugly title: The Mother Confessor. To be more than a nightmare in so many tongues. I can only hope to see the day I am released from this bondage and be free…