Too many souls have been wrongfully stolen away and... stuck, in a state of living death. To die is to be held once more in divine darkness, the Mother Darkness from which all Life was born; the body returns to earth as sustenance and the soul forgets, one day returning to Life as something new. But these thousands of little ones are kept prisoner, and the Mother Dark aches to hold Her children and comfort them.
— Mothra's perspective of the Many, Abraxas (Hrodvitnon)
"The twisted faces of the damned, piled high, and cloaked in malice!"
— The Ancestor, Darkest Dungeon, upon encountering the Collector
At night, we cluster close together, even though all of stink of death and bodies that haven't seen a bath in months. It's better than cowering alone and listening to the knock-kneed haint come walking by. We think it grows by consuming us — it eats the starved ones up and walks on borrowed bones ill-fit together. And so many of us have wasted away, and so many more are bound to follow.
In another month, that thing will be a god.
In another month, that thing will be a god.
— Wishbones
, by Cherie Priest
, by Cherie Priest