Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the haunt, Not a tentacle was stirring, not even the Night Gaunt. The brains were hung by the intestines with care, In hopes that St. Cthulhu soon would be there.
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Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the haunt, Not a tentacle was stirring, not even the Night Gaunt. The brains were hung by the intestines with care, In hopes that St. Cthulhu soon would be there.