Once in every celestial cycle the stars come right, and Those Who Sleep may live. These rare conjunctions, foreknown and long-awaited, are inevitably periods of slaughter and devastation, as those who serve the Great Old Ones seek to return Them to Their rightful dominion, at any cost.
More often, the cosmic dance merely thins the veil that shields the mortal mind from the dreams of Those Who Sleep; these minima are alike foreknown and anticipated. These are seasons of blood and flame, of hilltop conjurations and star-spawned monstrosities, of riotous bloody bacchanal in widdershin rotation ‘twixt a ring of offerings and a ring of flames; these are seasons of perverse obeisance to Those Who Will Return.
Such is Walpurgisnacht. Such is this Eve.
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