Beware the crimson moths.
They are not of this world. They are not life. They come from something deeper, hungrier, older than me or you. Than the towns we live in.
They drift in on silent wings, soft as dust, red as fresh wounds. Do not be fooled – they seek not the body but the soul. They are the harbingers of our end.
Never touch them with your bare hands. Once you do, you are theirs. They will lay their spawn in the marrow of your bones, and soon – you won’t be human anymore. Just a vessel of whatever is to come.
If you see one, crush it. If you see more, burn the field. If you see three dozen – pray that God takes your soul before they can.
Beware the crimson moths.
They are not of this world. They are not life. They come from something deeper, hungrier, older than me or you. Than the towns we live in.
They drift in on silent wings, soft as dust, red as fresh wounds. Do not be fooled – they seek not the body but the soul. They are the harbingers of our end.
Never touch them with your bare hands. Once you do, you are theirs. They will lay their spawn in the marrow of your bones, and soon – you won’t be human anymore. Just a vessel of whatever is to come.
If you see one, crush it. If you see more, burn the field. If you see three dozen – pray that God takes your soul before they can.
Beware the crimson moths.