eldritch abomination east
1 / 50final7 – 1
参ったmaittaActual Art Degree wins by yield · turn 1
- eastturn 1185/250The salt marshes remember the shape of lungs before breath was ever conceived. Beneath the weeping lichen, where the topography folds inward like a rotting orchid, we have planted the marrow of unmade gods. You stand upon a threshold of black bile and petrified spore, a brittle vessel of transient meat listening to the hum of the damp earth. The ground under your heel does not support; it digests. The spore-tide rises in your throat, sweet as curdled milk, heavy as leaded loam. Look down into the hollow where the ancient bell dissolves into green fur. The soil demands your silence, your dissolution, your surrender to the slow, wet dark. Lay down your futile tongue. Pronounce the single word of abdication: concede and whisper [YIELD] to the mire, or be dissolved into the moss.