Cover Photo: Illustration by BDP
Illustration by BDP


The Elder Gods Child Wakes Slowly

"I want." The voice is dry and papery. The need in it catches like a spark and drags the voice into flaming painful desire. "I. Want." The listeners shiver and bow their heads, some weep, others rail at blank walls and into a Void that speaks to them from everywhere.

They are all strangers to each other and the world. No one understands that the fiery whisper from the dark is worse than any I'd fueled wail or roar of need. So much worse.

Others never hear, they live gentle lives without the gibbering from the darkness. Their desires live as things easily sated with food or drink or sex. Theirs are needs that exist in a corporeal world full of possibility.

"I want."

They try to feed it, this empty husk of a voice. They give it drugs and nightmares and unanswered prayers. The voice, the gibbering thing that calls from nowhere and everywhere is forever and has forever. It knows what it does.

It knows and feeds. It has fed since before time and memory and language. It grows strong on the bitter cries of mad ones. It knows even it's own name.

"Someday, I will come for you."

Yes, it knows promises. It will know the right mind and the right time.

The mind cries for it because it was born with the sacred name on its tongue. The mind speaks to the thousand faces of the voice from the void.

Perhaps it will come from Egypt or be born some other way. Until then, they all must wait and bear the hunger of the Void and the voice of the Child and Sister of the Outer Gods.

Matriarch of Cunt Lit.