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Synopsis: The Evil Eye of Shoggoths
In the forgotten margins of cosmic history, long before humanity learned to name the stars, the Shoggoths were fashioned as servants—formless, obedient, and mute. Yet within their ever-shifting mass lay an unintended flaw: perception. Over aeons, this perception crystallized into a singular phenomenon known as the Evil Eye—a sentient gaze embedded within their protoplasmic chaos.
The Evil Eye is not an organ, but a metaphysical aperture: a window through which the Shoggoths perceive reality in its raw, indifferent totality. Those who meet its gaze do not merely see death; they experience epistemic annihilation. Memories unravel, identities dissolve, and the illusion of linear time collapses. Entire civilizations have vanished not by conquest, but by comprehension—having glimpsed truths the human mind was never meant to hold.
In modern times, fragments of this lore resurface through forbidden polar expeditions, half-mad scholars, and anomalous ruins buried beneath non-Euclidean ice. The Evil Eye does not seek worship nor destruction. It observes. And in being observed in return, it awakens—reminding humanity that it exists not at the center of creation, but as a fleeting miscalculation at its edge.
In my opinion, this myth stands as one of the purest expressions of cosmic horror: evil not as malice, but as awareness without mercy.
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Poem: The Eye That Remembers Before Man
Beneath dead suns and cyclopean stone,
Where angles dream and gods disown,
A trembling mass of ancient clay
Learns how to look—and learns to stay.
No face it bears, no soul, no name,
Yet in its depths, a watching flame:
An eye that opens without lid,
To know all truths the stars forbid.
It sees your birth before your breath,
Your every choice already death,
Sees love as dust, hope as decay,
Sees time itself begin to fray.
No hatred burns within its sight,
No hunger for your blood or light—
Only the calm, eternal proof
That meaning is a fragile roof.
O scholar, dreamer, doomed to know,
You sought the dark—and now you owe
Your mind, your self, your fragile plea
To what has always watched you be.
Turn not again. Too late—you stare.
The Eye is open. It is aware.
