Sheeana surveyed her army of cumsprites. Utterly loyal. Utterly convinced she was their mistress. A fanatic army that she could unleash where needed. Truly her plans were coming to fruition. The seeds she had planted had grown. Her scheme had proved fertile. You get the idea.

She mounted the dias, and unsheathed her crysknife. Held aloft, it was the same milky white as they were (except for the few that were kinda yellowish).

"Long live the fi-"