The Bullhorn of SILVER BROWN

A Fire For Yule (last phoneme optional)

Hark! An anti-miracle of Unnature is unfolding! This literary creature growing like a Xenomorph inside my innards is due to undergo the first of many moltings in a fortnight. It should be quite a ghoulishly surreal sight to behold, although I would advise against touching its discarded exoskeleton without asbestos gloves, lest it sting you all jellyfish-like and summon an unholy swarm of extradimensional maggot-like creatures to feast upon your suddenly withered and gangrenous stub of a hand. Using it like a Frisbee to play catch with your dog probably isn’t such a hot idea either, unless you don’t mind Fido growing an udder and an extra head.

In the meantime, get cozy by the fire. When the thing hatches, you’ll know.


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