Priestess' Call
Author's Note: Inspired by H.P. Lovecraft's short story "The Call of Cthulhu", and the character Kamishiro Rio / Merag (Rio Kastle / Marin) from Yu-Gi-Oh! ZEXAL. Enjoy the poem and R&R.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to or of the House of the Dead series.
Summary:
A poem based on the surfacing of the Priestess, set during The House of the Dead: Scarlet Dawn.
She riseth from the twenty thousand leagues, yawning deep. A bice, amphibious, octopoid walking beak of eight
tooth'd tentacles playing hide-and-seek in the raw sewage pathways beneath a scarecrow's playpen.
Her call is a many-echoed thing, yet comes from no throat to speak of. She sees with yellow corpuscles,
yet all she is connotes a benthic desire to feed. Wears the jellyfish headdress of a shrine
maiden. She jitters, hundred mouths forming one, suckers of vampiric intent. The drainpipe labyrinth of
iron grates reflects not the flesh eater's moon. She wriggles along the brickwork, a hand puppet with no
hand, self-crimping through the watery walls.
Fanged cephalopod, dangle-dancing callous narcolepsy upon the not-dinner guests, strapped for time.
Reddest cecaelia, dredged up by the barbed net of the fleet-ships of unconsciousness. 'neath eighteen-
eighty, the diseased Heart of Thorns besmirches the ancestral organization. The beginning of everything.
She sinks her phalanges-less unguises into steel beams. Hanging death, she sways exotic limbs,
oppressive contortionist slap-biting soaked complainers in this broken lab-crypt. Vascular segmentation,
inside-out rib cage. Crinkle-drown'd, she riseth again in greener brine.
Jasconius tanks under anti-alkaline falls.
Incendiary hydro pressure explodes outward.
Kraken stench.
She calls. Another she answers.
She can't stand being here anymore.
She was unknown, born but once.
I cannot move, for I locomote not. What is it to locomote, but to move?
So shrill, the scream in the depths.