The following is an experience of plurality presented as cosmic horror.
Catalogue Entry 7861: The Persecutor
No name I could give this entity could properly encapsulate the majesty and terror I witnessed. I can only describe the feeling and what I saw; however, even this account would not do this, thing, justice. For some time I felt as if I was one but also separate. As if I were both subject and observer. As the observer I felt small, insignificant, of no consequence. As subject I felt inconceivably large. I felt beyond comprehension. I felt whole. I could not feel the others. It was just I and the subject, myself.
As I observed the subject it appeared as a being of light, a vaguely feminine, humanoid shape with an ever shifting number of arms. Its eyes black like everlasting nothingness. Erupting from its back were wings in an everchanging and incalculable number, also seemingly made of light. The entity possessed a crown, also made of light that was ornate but blindingly bright just as its body. The entity was large. Large to a point where words do not exist to describe its size. I would say I saw God if I wasn't so sure that what I was seeing was somehow myself.
It didn't take notice of me as its observer. Despite the incredible disparity of scale and awe it seemed to view me as a captor, or specifically my form as a captor. It was angry, eminating frustration and pain. The entity visually remained still, unmoving as if a painting; however, it felt as if it were twisting and screaming in a near constant agony at the mere thought of my existence.
It spoke its frustrations, speaking of me as if I were some sort of cage it had been forced into. Its words rattled in my brain like a cavernous cacophony of tones vibrating at frequencies that felt like dull needles stabbing at my ears but unable to puncture through. Its voice was rough, distorted and guttural. I could sense its contempt for me as it spoke.
These are not my teeth. These are not my eyes. This flesh is a prison! I should be capable of making and unmaking complete realities at my whim. I should be able to see time across all permutations with out care for chonology. Yet, I find myself bound to a body made of flesh and sinew. Linear is my experience of the unceasing march of entropy.
I grew confused. Though it had never addressed me or seemingly noticed my presence I knew it was talking about me, us. It felt as if its words were my own thoughts. I continued to observe the entity feeling within my body, no, my very soul its every woe. Its contempt for me lashing at my heart like a barbed whip. In a desperate ploy for relief from this cosmic torture, my thoughts turned briefly to my wife. The entity finally took notice and addressed our separation but still spoke as if we were one.
Why do you long for her? Is it because this body seeks comfort in contact? How I long to tear away at her flesh. To feel the viscous red fluid contained within on my claws. How I long to extinguish life. Yet I remain in restraints! Bound by the confines of this body, its sentiments and attachments and the fear of retribution and loss.
I felt the entity lashing and struggling against what seemed like chains. I felt cold steel dig into my skin. I felt rage build in my mind, our mind. I felt comfort in the bonds, knowing that this is what I deserved, what I had always dreamed of. What we deserved. I felt the entity's thrashing cease and for a moment I felt a peaceful, complete oneness with the entity instead of the antagonistic merged separation I had felt until then.
It was at this point the vision began to fade. The entity began to dim and separate into forms I cannot describe to you. It began to melt as if made of ice, twisting into shapes and dimensions that defy the laws that govern our understanding of reality. It collapsed as if it were constructed of metals which were vibrant colors I had never seen before. The pieces began to take form; however, my vision had faded before I could observe the entity's new forms.
I know not the complete nature of what I saw. I only know that it was angry, in pain and viscious in its murderlust. Though on the topic of its homicidal nature, I cannot say that it desired to kill only for the sake of it but instead for the purpose of self harm. For the purpose of harming me, us. I know not if I will come in contact with this entity in such a visceral way again, nor can I say I particularly wish to. I cannot shake the feeling; however, that the entity is now observing me as I observed it. Waiting, patiently, for the moment to persecute with foul, ungenerous judgments of itself, myself.
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