Some days I feel like this poor, innocent Lovecraftian horror who had no idea that the shards of its soul contained in its Shriek of Enlightenment would drive some human listeners insane.
I mean, it's basically true, so it shouldn't be surprising that you feel that way. But it's a very understandable mistake for young eldritch horrors, and you should be comforted by the much greater numbers who say you drove them to sanity.
