Cultist Simulator

We are happy, I think.

I would not say it ended badly.

One by one we douse the flames.

It is hard to tell, with him, whether to laugh or cry.

That is enough.

Our house is home to fluttering things.

Life is not easy with her.

Our heartbeats quicken together.

We dream the same pink dreams.

He is the melody of love, and I hear him now.

We have joined the storm-chorus of the Thunderskin. Never shall we cease.

We have become something winged, dark and undying; something that no longer exists.

NO RECKONERS, NO EXCEPTIONS.

Our flesh may tire. We may grow old. But I will not regret.

She wants very much to be found.

We find, we think, a way.

I may give him his reward.

We seem a suited pair.

Now we are scholars of the heart.

He thanks me afterwards.

Our home is littered with his notes.

We wrestled the Forge to victory. We will not grow old.

I've been poor, I've been rich, and I've learnt that I'd rather be rich.

Somehow I can't stop thinking about it...

The Wolf and all the wandering flames will feast.

I am drunk with her.

I am well repaid.

We gorged on the fruits of the sticky Grail. We will not grow old.

We walked behind the Watchman. We will not grow old.

There's a lot of the world, and it's not all mapped yet.

The Corrivality is the world's engine.

Any student of Histories knows: as within, so without. One way or another.

The opposite of battle is death.

She ensures I have sweet dreams.

'I have one very specific recommendation for the contract...'

I have become something winged, dark and undying; something that no longer exists.

I was devoured, but another I rose higher

I have joined the storm-chorus of the Thunderskin. Never shall I cease.

In the Fifth History alone, I will rise like a wave and hood myself to mark what I have become.

I was lost to another I's glory

I carry the colours of lost Hours with me like a coal of rosy fire.

I couldn't risk them picking up the trail again.

I was consumed, but another I rose higher

I sharpened a believer to their deadliest Edge.

I drew a believer to the endless Dance of the Heart.

.....................

I forged a believer into a true instrument of Knock.

I led a believer to the Wood of the Moth.

I am a successful trophy.

I shaped a mighty believer from the fires of the Forge.

I don't think it really qualifies as a cadaver, so much as a souvenir.

I gorged on the fruits of the sticky Grail. I will not grow old.

I wrestled the Forge to victory. I will not grow old.

I pledged a believer to the Feast of the Grail.

I dedicated myself to the Hours of struggle and conquest.

I walked behind the Watchman. I will not grow old.

I cast a believer onto the Lantern's path.

I dedicated myself to the drumbeat which can never end.

I dedicated myself to the silence that comes and the cold that ends.

I no longer have any idea what is real, and what is not.

I dedicated myself to chaos, and the unexpected Hours.

It has pleased the Peacock Door to yield to my entry.

My trial was contentious. But thanks to the Inspector, here I am.

I have made the necessary sacrifice to enter the Mansus through the Spider Door.

I will be honoured by my peers. And then, one day, I'll die.

I conjured a creature from beyond the skin of the world.

I worked. I slaved. I lived a sort of life.

I dedicated myself to the Hours which open doors.

I have answered the riddle of the Stag Door, and am counted among the Know.

I dedicated myself to the study of the five Histories, and their thousand demi-real branches.

I honoured my agreement, but I did not have a friend.

I dedicated myself to the mysteries of birth, blood and appetite.

I dedicated myself to the fire that changes and remakes.

Speech may not pass the White Door, but I may.

The Wood grows around the walls of the Mansus. As any student of Histories knows, the Mansus has no walls.

My body died. Perhaps my spirit entered the Mansus.

Despair, the wolf that devours thought, devoured me.

I dedicated myself to the understanding of the Light that leaks from a fiercer place.