Something wicked is afoot-foot-footing where no one seeking daylight is a-looking. Has apocalypse forsook me? How does a soul bloom a single—or even sometimes two—of the thorny wicked rose? Isn’t it, though, particularly peculiar, looking down from up below?
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It's too late to wake...The Voidspire has you now.
You've joined a cult. Yes, this is a cult. Oh what a nightmare!
You! Of all people! What would your mother say?
You may think this happened against your will, but I assure you, it didn’t. You agreed when I lured you in with my charm, a gift or your own curiosity. Whatever. Who keeps track? What's important is you're stuck here. This tale is endless and you're part of my story now.Â
You're about to find yourself where every Unboundling begins: an entry-level Lürkmire with dark aspirations of rising through the ranks. Feel free to complete your profile or leave it blank, we've no profile completion expectation---actually, there's two rules here...the first is, don't get overwhelmed. I will be around to answer all of your questions along the way. You're in my netherscape now but I won't let any harm come to you...probably...the second rule is: keep Him everdreaming, placid, coiled and always endless sleeping.
Welcome to the Voidspire Consortium
Don’t care to be immortalized as the protagonist in one of my wicked tales?
...well, I assume I don’t have to explain how to close a browser window. Run along if that's the case.
