o dark dark dark. they all go into the dark; any

[Cthulhu]

what turns up in the dark

It is not a Great Old One, but perhaps there is a resemblance.
It is not tentacle, nor has it devoured stars and spit out universes. It is a strange creature, certainly. An alien creature, certainly.
But ultimately it is not divine in the way the gods are (or were, or will be – whatever the timeline is).
If it could grasp such concepts as deities, it would call Her its god. She, who is dark and beautiful and dangerous; She, with glass-cut cheekbones and a way about her that summoned shadows to wrap about Her elongated legs. It was bred – made – to protect Her, to serve Her, to keep her safe in the daytime when She was weakened and needed to sleep.
And in return She gave it meat, She spoke with it. She gave it purpose.
But She left it.
And so, strange but not divine, it is left to speak their mushy words and try to ignore the hollering ache in its belly.

The meat’s face contorts and it follows the motions with slit eyes. It is keyed to movement, a sight hunter more than anything else.
It says something else, something too quick and strange for it to comprehend. It understands talk, knows that means the slurry noises that come from the meat’s lips, the ones it has tried to emulate through a scaled beak meant much more for birtdlike chirps and trills.
“..’an’t…” it says. Can’t, it means, but the consonant is too shrewd for its maw.
Then the meta moves – comes closer - and its head is thrown up and the high alarm noise is trilled out, part confusion, part fear.
It is not used to the meat approaching, only to it running away.

CTHULHU

reference here