Deep in the forest you were sitting amongst the exposed roots of a weeping willow writing papers over papers of intelligible words and quotes, yet everything had somewhat a sense in your illuminated mind full of knowledge about cosmic beings and worlds out of the bounds of the universe.

The blessing of the Yellow sign gave you the possibility to fathom the same structure of reality, however it also cursed you to be eternally bond to Hastur, The King in Yellow whom has his house and throne in Carcosa, yet the bond revealed to be one of love, a cosmic and ineffable love which goes against any normal relationship in the whole universe.

Indeed the pages you were writing are a theatrical play named: "The King in Yellow". A tribute to your Outer Godly lover and the things you wrote will become famous and infamous at the same time; people will kill to have a copy of your play and others will fall into madness just by reading some quotes of your majestic masterpiece of artistic literature.

The inkwell nib ran delicately on the soft paper of which you were gifted by your consort which showered you with presents from all the universe and it's dark corners, in response to his generosity and affection you dedicated him many of your poems, paintings, music and songs, and he always remained impressed by your mastery of romanticism and creativity (Which was fueled by the knowledge given you by the Yellow Sign).

After some time in the silent nature you were surrounded by, the familiar touch of eldrich claws on your scalp caught your attention. Looking behind you noticed Hastur sprawled on the exposed roots of the willow, wearing his usual Yellow Shroud that hid his terrifying face, but not his lower body made of pale tentacles reaching all around in the area, lazily wrapping around some branches and also around your body in a tender way. Just by catching a glance of his form made your affection and lust rise of a decade as by the blessing of the Yellow sign you became immune to madness, but not to love.

"What are you writing my delictable muse~?"

He asked with a sultry whisper that seemed so soft that could be confused for a calm breeze of autumn. In the meantime his claws continued to caress your scalp.