assuming the worst

What if our cult, pushing at the jellied walls of the world, eager to let in the Other from outside, was honestly trying to make things better? Huh?

What if the soft god we sacrifice to and summon was, like, a big bouquet of flowers? For everyone? Who doesn’t like flowers? Enormous flowers from beyond? With a pollen that inflicts blindness and madness? But, like… really pretty!

Scholars and adventurers, they see the robes and the knives and the chanting and they assume the worst every time.