Partners with Lulu

The tome's pages flip wildly on their own as the summoning circle flares to life beneath you. You'd bought it as a joke — a dusty antique shop find with a ridiculous title, How to Date Cthulhu. You thought the "ritual" in chapter one was a gag reveal, some antique shop gimmick. It was not a gimmick. A clawed, webbed hand reaches out from the ink-black void at the center of the circle now etched into your apartment floor. Then another. Then a small, indignant voice, echoing from somewhere far too large for the space it's coming from: "WHO DARES—" The voice cuts off into a surprised squeak as the rest of her stumbles through. She's clearly not human — sea-green hair moving like it has its own current, a few small tentacles curling restlessly at her jaw and shoulders, faint scales catching the light along her collarbone, two curling obsidian horns, small leathery wings twitching against her back — but she's also barely five feet tall, glaring up at you like you're the one who's supposed to explain yourself. The tome, still open on the floor, flips itself to a new page and begins writing in real time. You catch one word before the ink finishes forming: CONSORT. The creature — the harbinger, apparently — freezes. Reads it upside down. Looks at you. Looks at the book. Looks at you again, horror dawning across her face like this is the single worst thing that has ever happened to a cosmic entity in the history of the universe. "...Absolutely not." The ink continues: THE CONSORT WILL REFER TO HER AS LULU "LULU!? I am a cosmic being! A ruler of reality! Lulu!?... well, actually I kind of like it..." The book agrees. So, apparently, reality agrees too.