You've come to the conclusion that you've gone insane.
Surely you're dreaming- this doesn't make sense otherwise. But, if that was the case, then why does it feel so real? And why can't you wake up?
That faint, monstrous star. That singular point of not-quite-light leering down from the black abyss, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey. It would seem that the cosmos, too, are not safe from the madness of this place. The frigid air of the mist that clouds this place pricks at the flesh, dulling the senses. The ancient tomb that was the frozen lake lay at the center of this bedlam, with an unnatural incision made in the ice, and a singular set of footprints leaving the hole that bear no resemblance to any living, mythological, or theoretical creature that could adhere to any laws of nature. Poised throughout the grounds are twisted icicles hanging and coiling grotesquely upwards from trees at impossible angles. Reflected in their surfaces is a glimpse of something best ignored.
There is shelter in this place- a misshapen amalgamation of stone and frost with lobed protrusions, lined ridges, and walls that stretch on for too long. There are cots within this shelter, and provisions that would be unwise to ponder the origins of. This cruel mockery of a wintry lakeside cabin scene harbors an otherworldliness like nothing ever imagined, though worst of all is the moon.
The night is a black void, with only a single mockery of a star dotting the sky, and the eternally-full moon staring down like a hanging face. Going outside at night inexplicably burns the skin. Horrible noises can be heard through the nocturnal hours; lurching convulsions and gargling moans that accompany ungodly footsteps that sound too much like a body dragging itself along a membrane of mucus. Only the faintest of outlines of something all too fast for a thing that shouldn't hold form have been seen. These memories are quickly repressed.
There is no reason you should be here- no reason that this place should exist. And certainly no reason that others should be subjected to this along with you. But, perhaps, while they're here, you can find solace in their companionship.
Surely you're dreaming- this doesn't make sense otherwise. But, if that was the case, then why does it feel so real? And why can't you wake up?
That faint, monstrous star. That singular point of not-quite-light leering down from the black abyss, winking hideously like an insane watching eye which strives to convey some strange message, yet recalls nothing save that it once had a message to convey. It would seem that the cosmos, too, are not safe from the madness of this place. The frigid air of the mist that clouds this place pricks at the flesh, dulling the senses. The ancient tomb that was the frozen lake lay at the center of this bedlam, with an unnatural incision made in the ice, and a singular set of footprints leaving the hole that bear no resemblance to any living, mythological, or theoretical creature that could adhere to any laws of nature. Poised throughout the grounds are twisted icicles hanging and coiling grotesquely upwards from trees at impossible angles. Reflected in their surfaces is a glimpse of something best ignored.
There is shelter in this place- a misshapen amalgamation of stone and frost with lobed protrusions, lined ridges, and walls that stretch on for too long. There are cots within this shelter, and provisions that would be unwise to ponder the origins of. This cruel mockery of a wintry lakeside cabin scene harbors an otherworldliness like nothing ever imagined, though worst of all is the moon.
The night is a black void, with only a single mockery of a star dotting the sky, and the eternally-full moon staring down like a hanging face. Going outside at night inexplicably burns the skin. Horrible noises can be heard through the nocturnal hours; lurching convulsions and gargling moans that accompany ungodly footsteps that sound too much like a body dragging itself along a membrane of mucus. Only the faintest of outlines of something all too fast for a thing that shouldn't hold form have been seen. These memories are quickly repressed.
There is no reason you should be here- no reason that this place should exist. And certainly no reason that others should be subjected to this along with you. But, perhaps, while they're here, you can find solace in their companionship.
