A guest post by Stephan McLeroy.
The stars align, again, an offered choice. In Bearer Thomas’s hands: a jar of strawberry jam and another of apricot.
The pitch portal coalesces over chalk symbols. Gangrenous tendrils burst forth. One preserve falls, the other leaves with Thomas into darkness.
Cultists scramble, inspecting portents divine. The creature beyond wonders why sacrifices are always fruit-flavored.
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