Here in Hellebore, we are all Antichrists, all Ragnarök made manifest. We are those who are destined to break the chains binding Fenris to his boulder; we are Kalki come riding on his pale horse; the death of Buddha; the vectors of apocalypse, avatars of the end, world-eaters; memetic violence distilled into bodies with badly underdeveloped prefrontal cortexes, like the world’s least impressive tulpa.
