What would life be without dread, without horror?
It is when we are afraid that we are most aware of our mortality. When gripped by terror is when we feel most alive. A healthy fear is what has kept the species safe and allowed the human race to thrive. And who embodies true fear and dread and horror more than The Great Old One, The Sleeper of R’lyeh, Cthulhu?
With great leathery wings and tentacled mouth he lies dead, in a sense, maybe, but not as we know death, deep in slumber in that ancient sunken stone city. In our nightmares he calls to us, or is it we that call to him? In inexplicable moments of anxious paranoia we experience an affirmation that he still lies in slumber, just beyond our gaze, with cruel tentacles reaching out to us all, wrapped around our subconscious minds.
Should you ever be out on the open sea, staring down in to the deep waters at night, and should you feel a cold fear grip your heart that terrifies you with imaginings of what lurks beyond what we can see, you will know that he still lies. And should you try to avert your gaze to calm your spirit, and look up at the black night’s sky and feel the exact same dread at the thought of the vast open reaches of the cosmos, you will know that it is from whence he came.
Oh great Cthulhu, malevolent overlord yet to rise, at least we know you are always there.
Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.
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