“That is more like it! As expected my sinfully scintiliating side comes through in any situation.”

“Let my name echo in song!”

“You. Satiate my Craving.~”

“My Loyal Minions of the Salon Solitaire~ Over there stands something I want… I NEED. Beatific Cake, its glistening Chcolocate-Coffee powder crust being wasted upon the uncouth worm who is holding it. It is only right, I correct this matter and take it from him! AND if you… My slaves DIE in agony during the Assault… then I shall elicit your rapturous Fanfare…in fact I SHALL RELISH IT!”

“To the ‘reader’ of this message. Yes you may have heard of me, I am Furina, the Font Princess of Socothbenoth/Slaanesh. I do not blame you upon hearing my name has cause you to quiver and quail. Just make sure you do not drop any Sweets onto the dirty floor when I come and take it from you.”

“Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for

Been searching in the dark, your sweat soakin' through the floor

And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can't ignore

Takin' your breath, stealing your mind

And all that was real is left behind

Where it's covered in all the colored lights

Where the runaways are runnin' the night

Impossible comes true, it's takin' over you

Oh, this is The Greatest Show!”

[-]

Whimsical, Narcissistic, and Petty. These adjectives describe the intoxicating hedonism that is the mortal Cleric of Socothbenoth, Furina known as ‘the Font Princess’. Festering for the Desire to experience every sensation and bestow the Silken Sin’s ‘gifts’ to any soul un/fortunate enough to cross her travelling path as a travelling Troubadour on her so-called pilgrimage around the world. Her entourage, known as the ‘Salon Solitaire’ curries for her favor like swarming sycophants to gain her gaze and be blessed by what hidden sensations no matter how pleasurable or painful they may selfishly be.

Furina’s cult-like sycophants of chaotic cacophones continues to slowly fester into the hearts of those craving the Pavane of Sensations she bestows. Like a thief in the night, she grabs you. Creeping up into your mind to consume you. A disease of the mind until she all but controls you.

You will never have fear nor regret when you fall into hedonistic cult of the Salon Solitaire:

For you are forever ensnared in her ‘Show of Wonder’.