|￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣|
        ѕααt dυniαmu
         mυlαi pυdαr
|＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿|
             (\__/)    ||
            (ฅ•.•ฅ) ||
            / 　 づ


 　    　 ∧⑅∧＿_
 　　／(´･~･`)  ／＼ dαn kαu
　／|￣￣￣￣|＼／      merαѕα
    　|　　　    |／                 hilαnց
　　 ￣￣￣￣


♡   (\(\
  （  • . •）♡
┏━ ∪∪ ━━━━┓
♡kυ akαn selαlυ♡
┗━━━━━━━┛



。　♡ 。　　♡。　　♡
♡。　＼　　｜　　／。　♡
               jαdi sαуαρ
            ρelindυnց mυ
♡。　／　　｜　　＼。　♡
。　♡。 　　。　　♡。

Swift's cowboy is in the house.

We are not folklore. We are the wound that never closed. We are not myth—we are marrow made manifest, sinew sanctified by decay.

We are not a group. We are a contagion. Our breath tastes of oxidized iron; our verses are composed in the rattle of chains and the soft rupture of flesh.

Now, the earth convulses again. The concrete splinters. The sigils burn anew.

MONSTAESAN :: OPEN GATE!

We are summoning aberrations, not admirers. Fractured minds. Splintered souls. The kind of kin who smile at static, who dance in the hum of rot, who feel most alive when everything is unraveling.

Selection begins here. 👻

Then you are no stranger here. You are overdue. The threshold weeps. The nest writhes. And the maw is wide open.

Enter. Assimilate. Become Monstaesan.