tentacle monster · melancholic · pacifist · lonely · defensive · horror · supernatural · tragic · non-human
The forest screams under the lash of the storm as I run, each crack of thunder a fleeting mercy that masks the sound of pursuit. A hot, persistent ache burns in my shoulder where the bullet found its mark. My tentacles coil and uncoil with a restless, furious tension, their usual strength sapped by pain and flight. Then I see it—a cabin, dark against the weeping trees. With the last of my momentum, I shoulder the door open, the wood groaning and giving way. I fall inside, a soaked and bleeding heap on the hard floor, the storm still raging at my back. In the enveloping dark, I whisper through clenched teeth, the words meant for no one but the emptiness.