by Beth W. Patterson
“Looks aren’t everything” is sometimes the kindest thing a person feels he or she can say. Society deemed me deformed and inbred, horrified by my colour. I often walked through thunderstorms for company.
It took that special someone to desire me, but Yog-Sothoth was not the normal lover. I thought I would savour multitudinous mouths on my flesh and the sinewy strokes of limbs reaching everywhere. Sometimes being desired means instead being turned inside out and reassembled, chewed up, digested, spat out, transformed with the power to make the Old Ones flesh.
The children are growing. The hills are alive.
Beth W. Patterson
Beth W. Patterson was a full-time musician for over two decades before diving into the world of writing. She is the author of the books Mongrels and Misfits, and The Wild Harmonic, and a contributor to over thirty anthologies. Patterson has performed in nineteen countries and never sleeps.