A salt-scarred idol of black basalt crouched on a ledge of damp rock, its angles denying comprehension and its small mouth furred with ancient brine.
Sailors whispered that when moonless tides withdrew the idol drank the stranded pools and chattered softly, and brittle manuscripts muttered of a speech older than reefs and rain.
When the cavern shuddered and the sea went mute, a blind procession of pallid crustaceans scaled the weeping stones as the ledge split and the figure straightened, and a pressure like cold thought rolled across every mind until tongues stalled and the horizon lurched.
Saved at 2026-01-05 15:38 UTC
