I admit it. Keeping myself pure for the Great Cthulhu has been a daily struggle. But, now that I’ve enjoyed the pomp and ceremony of my very first sacrificial death, I have just one thing to say: I’m glad I waited!

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fended off an ardent suitor with the gentle words, “No dear, I’m saving myself for the Shambling Mountain,” while smiling pleadingly and crossing my legs firmly at the knee. Indeed, there were nights when I couldn’t wait, when I pressed myself against the chilly glass of my vestal window, dreaming of the Great Cthulhu’s welcoming maw, and cried out “When will the stars be right? When?”

Needless to say, when I received the Call, I was excited. My heart pounded. I began to hyperventilate, heaving my unbesmirched chest in a most pleasing way. Finally my long-cherished maidenhead would be put to its proper use! My violent death would appease the lust of He Who Slumbers, allowing my sacrificers, the members of Columbia University’s Science Fiction Society, to live! Perhaps months longer than they would otherwise!