A power the likes of which she hasn’t seen or felt since their Lord had been in his prime, and she utters his epithets just to feel them on her lips. They carry power and importance, but the sounds are foreign to the last slumbering pieces of her, and she ceases before too long. His name cannot staunch the flow weeping from her slit and she reaches one hand down between her legs just as daintily as she can - despite never being something dainty, never being something other than powerful and strong - to spread her folds and finish the job.