Within dark and mossy walls, where light rarely touches stone, eldritch fingers clasp primitive tools.
On rock they leave their sinister carvings, elaborate portrayals of their worshiped master, and pray for Its long awaited arrival.
It is almost time.
Not sure what’s gotten into me today, first my response to 3 Line Tales and now this; perhaps, I’m having a bit of a Lovecraftian day? Perhaps the stories are part of one piece? Who can really say…