Stunnibg
It was alive. At last.
The creature she’d been nursing, ever since she’d found it whimpering under the bed, months ago, during one of her routine inspections of the property.
She’d been scared by it at first, but it had cottoned on to her. Formed a connection. It spoke in some ancient tongue, its voice heard deep in her skull. If she would look after it, it would look after her.
And so, she set about restoring the creature to full strength. Aiding and abetting it, delivering everything it needed or desired. In return, it changed her. Reshaped her body, made her stronger, leaner, improved her mind.
It also twisted that self-same mind, almost imperceptibly, each day. Making her crave contact with the creature. No longer just a duty of care, she was becoming addicted to it, feeding off of its’ growing strength, in symbiosis.
And now, at last, it was restored. The creature had grown to ten times the size she’d found it – now, a hulking beast, a monstrous mass of tentacles and flesh, glowing and pulsating before her.
It spoke once again in her mind. It was ready. It was hungry. She should not be afraid. The creature bathed her in the light of its’ power, and she obeyed, preparing herself to surrender completely to it.