A squalid village sits in a valley. Each night, The City thunders down from the mountaintops, and takes for itself everything beautiful, everything fragile. The village has grown to love what is twisted and foul, and someday soon the City will only be a glimmer on the distant peaks, it’s meaning forgotten.
This is the mystery of Progress.
There was a Prince who played all day on the marble floor of the palace as a boy. In his game the white squares were safe, and the black squares were the fires of Hell. He lept and climbed for years, laughing at his play, and growing strong.
When the boy became a man and left the palace for the first time, he saw before him a world of marble tiles- every color he could imagine, but none black, and none white. For years he moved among the tiles, and some colors burned him, and others did not, with no rule and no reason. At the brink of despair, he cried to the Heavens,
“This was my game from the start!â€
From that day forward, the Prince was content- he always knew which colors were safe, and which were not. He was never again burned, and was free to travel far and wide.
This is the mystery of Vanity.
She was beautiful, but could not Love.
This is the mystery of Satisfaction.
A great Emporer ruled the world from his City with the placement of a single finger. He could lick his thumb to smudge a page, and condemn the laws of men to confusion and hypocrisy. He could tap a shoulder and distract Lords from the holiest visions. He was present at every legislature, had his hand in every military strategy. Division was his creed, and his palace was in all the spaces between Division created.
This is the mystery of the King.
There was a Prince who was gifted with the ability to see all the colors of the world, to see which were safe, and which would burn underfoot. In his wisdon, he was never burned, and traveled far and wide, guiding others to safety. He encountered many who burned in colors he knew were safe, and taught them that they didn’t really burn. He encountered many more who seemed to thrive in colors he knew were hellfire, and taught those ones to feel the agony he knew they yearned for.
This is the mystery of Sanity.
“Master, save us! Your world is too much to bear!â€
“Behold, I have heard your pleas. The best of you, I will save for later, the worst of you, I will save for last.â€
This is the mystery of God.
The snake swallowed it’s own tail, without fear, without respite. At last his teeth closed down over his own head, and he was no more. Oblivion was full of new worlds, of new things to eat. The sensation of fangs at the back of his neck was ever present, however, driving him on, never allowing time to fully experience any of the new pleasures, or solve any of these new Mysteries. He was ever driven into new and stranger depths, without respite.
This is the mystery of the Will.
Way too inspired by:
yankeeclassic.com/miskatonic … ntents.htm
intenteded to be a companion to:
