She is the high prietess, the golden goddess to all of the downcast entities that fester and swelter in the blackened purgatory.

 

The epitome of perfect, the object of right, the maiden desired by all.

 

Her home is not the darkened grounds of purgatory but an ivory pedestal just beyond the wind-like whispers of her diciples. It is here she sits and rocks, and sings a gentle tune as she watches all the denizens gather to praise her.

 

In her arms lie a child, sweet and innocent, nursing on her bosom as her mother and the denizens look on.  

 

The tune The Mother sings catches on, and pretty soon the masses too begin to sing along.  In fused by the crowd, The Monther sings louder. Together The Mother and masses sing and sway in harmony with with each other. The plesantness of the moment encapturing all who had partook in it. 

 

The Mother is stopped by a shooting pain. She looks down in her arms and is shocked by what she sees. The crowd silences as a sound begins to echo through the land. The sound grows and grows until it is all that can be heard within the world.

 

Suddenly a hand reaches up from The Mother's arms, its claws catching her neck as it drags downward to her navel. The Mother's gags fall on the ears of the concerned denizens who watch in fear as The Mother's body collapses, convulses, and then dies. 

 

The creature then becomes visible, its blackened gnarled skin covered in lesions and sores rises, its long body stretching to reveal its true size. It stares at The Mother, and then looks on to the denizens. The coldness of its glare speaks its intent, The monster has arisen and they will all suffer.