I need a containment room for this thing.
>We Exist Together Now: (100 CP, Discounted Church of the Deep) Two fishies in one pond. Or three fishies. Or four. Or all of them, eventually. Many are those who find the cult’s appeal in its promise of a more compassionate world, where all, as Seaborn, live in harmony with one another. Others see it as a means of control. An Aegir scientist whose ideals saw her escaping her homeland to avoid execution, this deeply disturbed mind never took well to being told “No,” and certainly never arrived at an appropriate way to process emotional detachment. Did you not find her beautiful enough, or did you not want to settle down? To refuse her, already forced to denigrate herself with life on the surface, even when she had declared the two of you bonded in holy matrimony? Unthinkable. And unwise, denying one so willing to profane herself with all the horrifying means at her disposal. Means by which she will ensure that you eventually have no choice but to love her, when she is the only woman left. For resignation is her virtue; your rejection is simply the addition of time to a sentence she never deserved, but which you imposed. She is not content for it, for her expanding mind will find no satiation until her goal’s end, but she is resigned. Resigned to the inevitability of her own pursuit, which cannot be impugned. She has The Great Evolution, Tidelinked, and Pursuit of the Perfect Form. Already she has sacrificed her once-beautiful form, becoming a horrific and giant stationary mass of repugnant spongy flesh-webbing, entombed in some deep, silent grave beneath the waves. She splits off specialized slithering forms from her primary mass, thankfully fragile and easy to destroy, but which serve as parasitic vectors for her abominable will. All being part of her, she controls all at once with consummate ease, to their grim and terrible purpose. Swarming and falling upon human forms, they attach to the flesh and bore their tendrils into the spines of others, hijacking control of their briefly tortured bodies as they quickly work to snuff out and replace all brain activity. The majority are then nigh-immediately mutated into mangled combat forms which she can expend in battles for expansion. However, those she deems cute or attractive enough will find their shapes preserved, if nothing else. Messily burrowing in further in to wind around their core, her infection-forms will seal up the openings they made and fuse with and consume the central nervous system, availing her of everything her physically appealing hosts possessed. Maintaining their beauty, they, too, will be as her flesh, a growing collection of beautiful bodies. She will continue until all beauty in the world is her own, and perhaps all other life reduced to pulsating silent gore. Alone in that grave with her, anything you seek or interact with will inevitably be her, and surrounded by the beautiful remnants of a devoured world, you will have no choice but to love her.