Sit before the Tale Weaver.
You are now in the presence of the Damned. Within these pages, an eclectic gathering of dark writers and poets. Each a distinct voice. Each a bent mind. Each a tortured soul. Here, the fabric of reality twirls round our malevolent fingers. Here, light comes to die.
Our world is beautifully charred compared to your own. Beneath your polish lies our rust. Beneath your glory exists our taint.
We hide not behind masks. We cringe not from the raw. The Damned speak truths you dare not utter. The Damned expose all you shamefully hide.
Indulge upon our sanguine prose. Bloat with our anguished muse. Exalt in our blatant gluttony. You deserve it all. For the Damned are merely reflections of yourself, and portraits do not lie.
No longer are these your safe surroundings. Eternally damned you shall now be.
Until we choose to summon you again…be gone.
So the Tale Weaver speaks.
Follow us. Be damned.