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The Child of Hastur

Our King in Yellow

He wore yellow. Always. At least when he was around her. She had never seen him in other forms. She knew he had them, but he never changed his look for her. So it was rather disturbing when she saw him for what he was, the king in yellow.

She had been hiding, as usual. Hiding is what she was good at, what she had to do. She had been hiding in the NoWhere, when he had come by. He had gone out into the stars and the empty, as gods want to do. And as he returned, she saw him as he was.

You see, he was just coming back from listening to the Mad Ones. If he could enjoy things like humans enjoy things he would enjoy listening to the Mad Ones very much, so he had been gone for quite a while. As he came back towards the dark city, with its monolithic towers, he let his form slip away, revealing him. Scales, and hide, and leather. Tentacles and tendrils and, of course, yellow. The color yellow, everywhere.

She saw him and he was terrible and horrible and natural. A blight on the world, but the world would not be the world without it. A defect that marked the mind, like a painting or a stain. An octopus, dragon, and human hybrid that was wrapped with so much madness and fear and reality and fantasy that once she looked away she almost forgot.


He was now a hazy image in her brain, a memory long forgotten, even longer ignored. With this in her mind, she slipped away, hidden again in the NoWhere, hidden behind and between nothing. Her mind spiraled as she recalled the image, examining details her eyes did not see and her mind would not comprehend. She stopped and stood, as much as you can stand when you are nowhere. She turned and moved towards the dark city where they resided, where he took her so many years ago. She had a question; she needed an answer.

Of course, the King knew he had been spotted. He did not care. Call it a test. Let her go mad, insane, crazy, psychotic or any other word humans use to describe people like them. Let her. He did not care. No, he sat on his dark throne and waited. He knew she would finally know the truth of the matter. That the truth of the matter doesn’t truly matter and that the lies of matter are much, much more terrifying. He knew this, he had created the lies while the close-minded humans created their ‘truths.’

When the girl walked in he was seated on his throne. The throne room looked like a church, with black, stone walls that arched up to the roof. This 'roof' looked as if it had been ripped open by a massive beast, crumbling and cracking stone so sharp it looked like glass. The floor of the throne room was in the same state of disrepair. It was into this room the girl entered, with the king seated on the throne. She looked about seven in human years, though she was much older and much more afraid, as she should be. He knew she was afraid of the question, every human was, “but this girl always hid her fear well.” he thought. She walked to the throne and looked up at him.

“Why me?”

The king in yellow looked down at her, thoughtfully.

Then, he began to laugh.

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