It was over. What had been a young, vibrant woman was nothing but thick cum lying oozing down the wall and splattered across
the floor. She had been unable to resist. The predator showed her that her true purpose in life was to be churned into cum. Life should
have ended there. For the most part, it did. The creature, however held on to a small portion of the girl and used it to bring her back,
though inadvertantly. Churning up souls is not a science. The thick cum shifted and bubbled up, piling upon itself in gloppy wads.
Slowly, a soft, curvaceous feminine figure rose up, coalescing into the shape of a busty young woman that appeared to be entirely
made of that thick semen. Her eyes slowly opened, revealing familiar orbs of the girl that came before, but the light of memory was not
in them. She was someone else, but she was what she was always meant to be as far as she was concerned.
Femari is a being of living cum. She is the reborn essence of another girl, and knows only her love for the same kinds of processes
that made her into what she is today, which is melting pretty things into what she is. Adding them to her mass.
She has a consistently semi-liquid surface that is sticky to the touch. Portions of her body drip off of her form, but
she does seem to produce more of herself over time and lacks the need to reconstitute these small cast-off portions of her being into
the greater whole. A heavy, musky aroma flows from her being wherever she goes, often having a heady effect on others around her. She
is capable of absorbing others, drawing them into her body and then breaking them down into a mass of cum. When she does, she often
swells in size until this excess mass is cast off. She is seemingly cheerful and friendly for the most part, though a bit mischievous,
especially if trying to snatch up someone she has taken an interest in.
She has no set height, often forming up to something around the same size as whomever she is currently speaking to. Her voice comes off
clear, but often with a slight, bubbling gargle to the back of it. She can shift her form swiftly, but finds it kind of tiring,
prefering to ease into new shapes as they are convenient rather than rapidly shrink or expand. She has a constant need that tickles at
her to fill that which she is lacking: a true living soul. Because of this, she absorbs others in an effort to replace it, though she
does not know why, just that she is driven to do so. It never seems to actually stop this need.
A HappyFlowers Production.