This is kind of a piece of Prose poetry generally about Nyarthlutath. Just a one chapter piece.

A vicious wind on a dark night. The eerie howl amidst the dead silence of night penetrates the very soul of any who should hear it. Animals scurry to and fro, some in frenzy and some in terror and people move not from their homes. Doors and windows are locked, children cry, the lights go out and people pray. For tonight the pitch black holes manifest in the sky and dance amongst each other. The dark shadows of unholy nothingness.

May only those who serve her dare show themselves, for those that fail to pledge their souls have them consumed by the mindless night. I wait, alone listening and watching for the signs of her return. Night by night I wait for her. A hateful darkness, she is the visual manifestation of fear and hate wrapped in a cloak of desire. Resistance is impossible.

For months on end life is normal. Lives continue as normal, it only takes a short time. The very memory of the dark curtain she casts over us is forgotten. The loss of senses and control as her deadly rapture consumes us. Then she returns, without warning and once again tears our world down around us. Fills us with a dark desire for her, a hateful worship while at the same time hands out false hopes laden with terror.

These we take with open arms, her will be done. Every dark deed she would ask of us, now the time for reckoning is come. The faint sound of a harp chimes malevolently in the distance, the chaos ensues again. Some run, some hide. Some wait, only us few; the tortured, the burdened and the doomed wait. Wait for her, invite her to destroy us once more. For the power of a God is great, the promises hold unimaginable sway. With one hand she gives the other takes. The parade has begun, the harp chimes louder as a cacophonous sound of chanting resonates through all of us.

Four men carry the casket in which her heart lays; the heart of darkness. Her ghouls howl in the night. All those that resist lose themselves to the hideous, enchanting noise. A chorus of madness they follow as Nyarthlutath comes to finally tear down humanity. To regain her kingdom, I follow willingly, lovingly despite my body writhing in unnatural fear and dread.

My soul is not mine, it is hers. Now irretrievable, cast into the abyss with the rest of us. Nyarthlutath returns to us; to her we raise our selves and give wholly unto her. In darkness we trust and in madness we reside.

The End

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