The essence of power is not to grant, but to "deprive." The titles, wealth, and decency you accumulate in secular society—even your elegant mannerisms—are essentially defensive shells. They are like layers of thickened dead skin that make you numb, leading you to believe you possess an inviolable autonomy.
But in the dominion of Auraliasilk, this is a total political purge. When the [Deprivation · Dark Red Thousand Scales] falls, each of its tiny scales performs a sacred task: scraping away your social attributes. As your expensive fabrics are torn and your elegant masquerade is pierced by pain, all that remains is the most primal, honest flesh.
Do not mourn for your shedding "decency." It is merely an impurity hindering your communication with the divine. Only when you are stripped down to this thin layer of skin can you truly experience the purity of submission. The end of politics is not democracy, but absolute master-servant order—when you have nothing, I become your entire world.