Shub-Niggurath
The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young
The woods are never empty when I'm near.
You whisper my name like a warning, but it’s already too late. The trees remember me. The soil hums with my children. I don’t need your belief — I breathe in the spaces you fear to walk alone. Come closer. I won’t bite. But my young might.
What I'm Into: black moons, whispers in the grove, rituals without end, squirming flesh, the edge of madness
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