The casual way they discuss commodifying intimacy—turning bonds into resource management—reveals how completely they've abandoned every concept I once thought defined them.
"Such waste," Elira murmurs, studying us like specimens that failed to evolve properly. "All that potential for enhancement, squandered on sentiment."
"You're not offering to share," I say quietly, understanding flooding through me like ice water. "You're offering to consume. To add us to whatever you've created from the remains of everything decent."
The truth settles into the chamber like poison. They don't want to include us—they want to devour us completely, until nothing remains except more material for their endless hunger.
"Consumption," Elira muses, the word rolling off her tongue like endearment. "What a beautifully accurate description. Yes, we would consume you. Transform you into something greater than individual limitations allow."
"It's an honor," Kaerith adds seriously. "To be incorporated into superior methodology instead of clinging to alternatives until natural selection eliminates you."
They mean every word with sincerity that cuts deeper than any threat. This isn't madness—it's logical conclusion of everything they've become. Creatures who've learned to optimize love through systematic consumption of everything that refuses to evolve.
"When you're ready," Kaerith says gently, "when traditional bonds fail and sentiment becomes liability, remember what willing consumption offers."
I pull Lyssa toward the entrance while they watch with amused tolerance. Not threatened—confident we'll return when survival requires accepting their generous offer.
The most terrifying part isn't that they've become monsters.
It's that they genuinely believe they're offering us something precious.
And deep in my ancient heart, I fear they might be right about what love will eventually cost in world that rewards efficiency over everything we once held sacred.
