Once upon a time, there was a very fluffy thing.
It was extremely fluffy.
It was also poofy.
But mostly, it was fluffy.
It was cute, and whiter than fresh-fallen snow in some place other than New Jersey.
It also tasted like marshmallows and snozzberries.
It would have been delicious. If you could eat it.
But given that it was 400 feet tall and covered in invulnerable (if fluffy) scales, that would have been difficult.
It was an Elder God of Damnation and Fluffology.
People did not take it seriously, because it was silly.
“Aw, it’s a little tiny gigantic heliotropic non-Euclydian horror!” they said, attempting to pat it on the head, even though its head was some 394 feet above them and also, it was eating them at the time.
As was traditional, with every human it ate, it grew bigger.
And even when (far too late) foolish human began to run, it did them no good. The great fluffy thing expanded larger and larger, and eventually swallowed the world in a sea of madness and marshmallow whip.
On the whole, everyone agreed this was the best thing ever to happen to them.
And it was, too. Especially considering what came next.