The incense in Yunxu Temple is prosperous and the believers are devout.
Only I know that this Taoist temple has been "broken" from the inside out.
The statue of Sanqing will spit out sticky tentacles when the candlelight flickers.
When the most devout believers kneel down in worship, they will unconsciously tear apart their skin, revealing the inhuman texture underneath that sparkles with alien luster.
And I, the new abbot, still get up before dawn every night, walk to the squirming hall, and chant -
Until that day, I realized that every syllable I recited did not belong to this world.
My throat is His passage;
My skin is His prison and disguise.
The Taoist temple I maintain is actually an altar of flesh and blood built for His coming.
When the last mantra is recited, is the "I" under the skin a person, a tool, or... Himself?
[The strange work of Eastern Cthulhu | Weird and fairy-like spiritual pollution]
——Don't look, don't listen, don't recite, don't think.
