

Its siren song calls to you in the small hours and for the better part of your life you have resisted it. But the song is sweet, honey and milk on your tongue. Its allure stands the hairs on the nape of your neck. Here you stand now at the mouth of this great beast, the song still firmly in your head, the taste of it drying your throat. You know you must enter the maw of it, and it welcomes you like an old friend. You know you may not ever emerge from here again. But you also know you would die ...




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