Hey There, C'thulhu, Down There in Your Sunken City

Dear Cthulhu,

I am writing to thank you for the recent nightmares you have given me; they were most terrifying. Seeing sections of your great, but deeply abominable, cities is most daunting. Just quite how they were built is truly beyond my comprehension. But this fragment of my sanity is such a small price to pay to see your surroundings, and to be one of your faithful cultists, knowing that I am one of those chosen to assist in your joyful arrival to this meager planet. 

I was particularly aghast by the smell of the ooze that adorns R'lyeh that pervaded my latest visions; it's all starting to seem a bit too real. Some days, I feel the Earth shake, starting to reshape itself around me, buildings growing, arching their very brickwork overhead, reaching for the stars. Others do not seem to care about it, they seem unconcerned, as if nothing unusual were happening. Why do they not listen to me when I tell them; I lose my patience sometimes and just start shouting. They do not listen, they do not want to listen, but they will know the truth, even if it is only the day on which you devour their souls.

Alas, I must close this letter promptly as it has swiftly grown dark, and the light of my candle is flickering weakly. I feel that although night has arrived, I will not get much rest, as I await your next brilliant monstrosity of a vision.

Cthulhu fhtagn,

William

The End

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