In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with Sharmilee, and the Word was ‘sureeeeeee’

And Sharmilee, called Milee, gave the Word unto the world. Light begot darkness as it heard the Word, and the sheath begot the sword and naivete begot sarcasm. And Milee called upon her children and gave them the gospel. She commanded them to fly to the corners of the world and in their sharpness bleed every last dredge of information for her to savour. They did then prepare this apocalyptic beverage, and in her name, she did consume it. Thus she is called Milee, Queen of Tea.

She then sent forth her children and retired to her forge. And in her forge, she wrought adamantine tools, emblazoned with supernal sigils, drawn in splendour with empyrean hues. The creations she kept in her cavern, but their radiance breached the confines of dusk and tempestuously did their glory effuse unto air and water and light. Sight true was granted to her subjects, and beauty, through her art, was found to the common eye. Thus she is called Milee, Empress of Art.

But the spirit of Milee was yet hungry. She had no time to be fastidious, for ravenous was the mind of malice. With immense efficiency, she crafted nefarious nicknames and spread her libellous fabrications with her trusty steed of canines—the duggo squad. Falsehoods she crafted and infused these tales in her potions and elixirs. Belligerent brownies, knavish nougat and calumnious cookies were cooked and couriered to all corners of creation, and so did Sharmilee supplant supernatural superstitions and seduce the sentiment of her subjects. Thus she is called Milee, Blade of Mischief.

And afore the dusk of the age, she did take up the weight of the pedestal unto herself. And the world saw in awe as it was formed and reformed with her ideas and her mastery over all that is seen, and all that is not. She drew her power from those that were, and championed her own cause, which is the cause of her people and the cause of art and the cause of understanding. So did Sharmilee give the primordial Word unto all, the shabd of the word eternal. Thus she is called Sharmilee Sosale, the First of Her Name, Chiff of the Eddies, Beloved by Sir-Edit-a-Lot, and beacon of joy to us all.

And this author, in his loyal obeisance to the Church of the Cheshire cat grin, does make a record in this publishment, an account of his encounter with Milee the all-powerful. And this author can testify to her malicious spirit and her biting wit and bermost fearsome omniscience of all that is evil and sus and serial-killer-ish and to the ocean of kindness and love and unending friendship for her subjects, of which he is glad to be part.

Keep that grin eternal, O Captain, My Captain!