The planks of the piers creak under the weight of the feet of those who know not to look too long into the sea's depths. The reeking harbours hide specimens unknown to any biological catalogue, and the inhabitants speak in half-voices, as if afraid that the walls really have ears. Stone houses, built of a strangely textured material, rise above the banks, and from their curtained windows look pale faces with unnaturally large eyes that disappear faster than they can be seen. Every suspicious glance seems to be a warning of what is better not to see. Travellers find their way here infrequently, and those who do arrive often do not return the same way or return silent, changed.
In the whispering of the waves, in the gleam of eyes reflected in the dark sheets of water, there smoulders a world where silence takes shape and moves when no one is looking. Sometimes, at night, you can hear a tapping from under the ground, as if something long forgotten is trying to remind you of its existence.
Welcome to "A Love Letter to H.P. Lovecraft", a universe inspired by the works of the loner from Providence.
The Dweller
After the Accident
