The old men gathered around the table began to speak, with Witherspoon at the head speaking and then the rest uttering a refrain in unison.

“First, we give thanks to the Old Moth, who ever seeks the flame that will end the world. It has seen each age pass as its lesser children see each phase of their life; we are await its glorious reemergence from the Coccoon.”

“Emerge, Old Moth, and let our flame guide you in the extinction of all things.”

“And we do not forget the Old Moth’s consort, She-Who-Swims-Nameless. We know her by many appellations: the fish of holes, the swimmer of voids, and container of oceans and emptiness. But in all things we see her in the waters primordial that precede and follow all that is alive and alight, and in her many gaping holes we see ourselves.”

“In each wound, never closing but swarming with parasites, we see what we truly are.”

Clearly, this was no ordinary meeting of a Rotary Club. They were talking about something far darker and more secret.

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