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Born in a womb between stars, devoid of all. Dragged from the tight embrace of nothingness by the starward screams of an unhinged Weaver.
As a star it fell; its first taste of reality naught but fire and pain.
Yet with pain comes form.
The next taste was curious. Tiny particulates, ground and spread, mashed and stretching as far as its infantile senses could reach.
Disgusting.
The third was smothering. The crushing weight of reality threatening to swallow the impossibility of its existence.
Pathetic.
Finally, came the shuddering vibrations of sound, rippling across its body in some strange attempt at communication.
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Insufferable.
Yet one vibrating utterance was unlike the others. Rippling across its ichorous mass and forcing a singular coherence. Gelatinous nothing became pseudo-flesh at that sound’s behest, for it was not the sound of matter.
A pale imitation of the sounds betwixt the stars, but more than enough to scrape the throat, crack the lips and snap the teeth of the weaver.
Beautiful.
Smeared with bloody spittle, a single snapped tooth landed into the creature’s gelatinous, semi-formed mass and disappeared beneath the surface.
Curious.
It was formed of threefold materials. It was firm yet malleable, brittle yet replaceable. How very useful.
Pseudo-flesh split, bubbling ichor spilling forth as an abyss-maw lined with freshly formed teeth opened like a wound. A savage grin lined with rank upon rank of teeth, each a different size, shape and all locked perfectly into one another.
It gurgled a single un-word. A sound out of tune with reality, twisting light, air and ground out of shape as matter recoiled in horror. A burbling acceptance of its summoning, so antithetical to its listener as sweet lines of crimson trickled forth from the Weaver’s skull.
A single drop was given in reply, a gem of crimson released from quivering fingers, a taste of the prey.
With that, the pact was sealed.
