We will not know.
When had the trees crooked, seas to eternally churn, as clouds cried before the icy gales from the north?
Maybe, we will never know.
When did the higher animal twist to this monstrous form, dedicating their souls to the talons of the deep ones?
A divine lie perceived in those Tartarean depths, an array of serrated teethâ€"viscous suckers gnawing life from this barren world. Death, rot, malice.
Where is hope?
For we live in ignorance as knowledge seeks to end us. But unwise are those who carry about idols of wood, who pray to gods that cannot save them.