Blessed are the little ones

Impossible geometries fold the stark reality around me. The obsidian walls are sleek with an oozing luminescence that swallows me in their dread glow. The carved symbols hurt my eyes when I look at them. Octopod obscenities stalk me, I hear their slavered moans.

I pray for to a God far younger than this dark temple. A terrible entity from a plane far removed from our fragile cosmos bends its gaze upon me.

In shivering terror I lurch into the morning light.

The Great Cthulhu takes a dim view of calamari; I shall remove it from the menu at once.