You know what the worst thing is about worshipping the Great Old Ones? Learning to act “normal”. I mean, we’re raised in these isolated areas: decaying farmhouses, innocent-seeming orphanages, “survivalist” (ha!) compounds in Texas and Wyoming... And then we have to go out into the world. Some of us do, anyway.
Take me, for instance. I work at a pharmacy in a suburb of Austin. I’ve been doing this for eight years – and that’s just the job; I’m not even counting the education – all so my fellow worshippers can have access to certain sorts of pharmaceuticals when they need them. I have a lot of practice fitting in.
But just yesterday, one of the technicians sneezed, and I came this close to saying... well, never mind, I can’t really repeat that here. The point being, it wasn’t “Bless you” or “Gesundheit”.
Oh, it had been a long night – the virgin sacrifice ran late – and I was tired and not thinking too clearly. It’s not even as if anyone would have understood me; there are only a handful of the Ignorant who can even read that language – nobody speaks it. That’s no excuse, though. There are no excuses. If those words had left my lips where unbelievers could hear them, the Whisperers would have come for me... and that’s something I don’t care to contemplate without a stiff drink in hand.
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