Wyrd Tales in Port Doom

Voiceless cries, mouthless mutters

She watches, but I am still my own.

I tried to warn them again, but they do not listen. Even the follower of the Prodigal Son cannot hear me, let alone those poor, lost girls.

My cousin could hear me, though he did not take my council. I pleaded with him to let me go – to let my soul fly to the Father Above and Below – but his heart grew colder with the passing of my body. In the end, the chill consumed him.

I heard them speak of his passing – and of the passing of the flitting bird with so much potential. And when they drink from me, I feel their pain. They drink from me, and fill me with tears.

She watches, but I am still my own.

The creature appeared in my home. I could feel it’s eyes on me. Hungry with envy, and with lust. I cried out with a silent voice to the Father, but he also did not hear me.

I fear it. I did not think I was capable of fear any longer.

The follower of the Prodigal Son may have heard my cry. He spoke a word of power – not strong enough to break the chains that bind me to my bones, but strong enough to strip falsehoods from the creature. It fled.

I felt relieved. It was a temporary thing.

She watches, but I am still my own.

It did not return. But others did. They brought a part if IT with them, and I know fear again, because I feel Her gaze.

Her gaze is unpleasant, full of terror and ecstasy. I muttered a silent prayer. I am afraid it may be answered.

They took me – sending me into the hands of IT ’s slaves and fanatics. I can feel IT ’s tug, and I am no longer afraid.

I am terrified.

She watches…



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