- Following 8.1K
- Followers 16.4K
- Engagement 3.66%
- Avg likes 527
- Avg comments 11
About Kara
Kara (@schrodingers.catgirl420) is a Musician/band creator on Instagram, also filed under Music & Artists. The account has 16,383 followers and 1,837 published posts. Recent posts average 527 likes and 11 comments, an engagement rate of 3.66%.
With 16.4K followers, Kara is a micro creator by the common 10,000 to 100,000 definition. Kara follows 8,106 accounts, so the audience is roughly 2 times the size of the list followed. Kara uses an Instagram professional account. Flinque files Kara under Musician/band, with Music & Artists as a secondary category.
The Instagram bio for Kara runs to 24 words across 7 lines. The latest activity Flinque has on record for Kara dates from July 2025.
Story Highlights
Unlocking shows the title and cover image of every story highlight this creator keeps pinned to the profile.
1,837 Posts
Of the 10 most recent posts shown for Kara, 8 are carousels, 1 is a video and 1 is a single image. That mix leans toward carousels. Kara has built a substantial archive of 1,837 posts. Against the audience, that is roughly 8.9 followers for each post published. Kara also keeps 29 story highlights on the profile. All 10 carry captions, averaging 228 words each. The captions are written mainly in English. Words that recur across them include still, been, knew, never and those.
Out of that dream came rescue—the Vigilant, the vice-admiralty court, the streets of Dunedin, and the long voyage back home to the old house by the Egeberg. He could not tell—they would think him mad. He would write of what he knew before death came, but his wife must not guess. Death would be a boon if only it could blot out the memories.
That was the document I read, and now I have placed it in the tin box beside the bas-relief and the papers of Professor Angell. With it shall go this record of mine—this test of my own sanity, wherein is pieced together that which I hope may never be pieced together again. I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me. But I do not think my life will be long. As my uncle went, as poor Johansen went, so I shall go. I know too much, and the cult still lives.
Cthulhu still lives, too, I suppose, again in that chasm of stone which has shielded him since the sun was young. His accursed city is sunken once more, for the Vigilant sailed over the spot after the April storm; but his ministers on earth still bellow and prance and slay around idol-capped monoliths in lonely places. He must have been trapped by the sinking whilst within his black abyss, or else the world would by now be screaming with fright and frenzy. Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. A time will come—but I must not and cannot think! Let me pray that, if I do not survive this manuscript, my executors may put caution before audacity and see that it meets no other eye.
Connection terminated.
I’m sorry to interrupt you Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name. But I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume. Although you have indeed been called.
You have all been called here. Into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don’t even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach.
But you will never find them, none of you will. This is where your story ends.
And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you. Although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that’s not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well, I am nearby.
This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors: Be still and give up your spirits, they don’t belong to you.
For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don’t keep the devil waiting, old friend.
My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It’s in your nature to protect the innocent. I’m sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours. And then, what became of you.
I should have known you wouldn’t be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn’t save you then, so let me save you now.
It’s time to rest. For you, and for those you have carried in your arms.
This ends for all of us.
End communication.
Out of that dream came rescue—the Vigilant, the vice-admiralty court, the streets of Dunedin, and the long voyage back home to the old house by the Egeberg. He could not tell—they would think him mad. He would write of what he knew before death came, but his wife must not guess. Death would be a boon if only it could blot out the memories.
That was the document I read, and now I have placed it in the tin box beside the bas-relief and the papers of Professor Angell. With it shall go this record of mine—this test of my own sanity, wherein is pieced together that which I hope may never be pieced together again. I have looked upon all that the universe has to hold of horror, and even the skies of spring and the flowers of summer must ever afterward be poison to me. But I do not think my life will be long. As my uncle went, as poor Johansen went, so I shall go. I know too much, and the cult still lives.
Cthulhu still lives, too, I suppose, again in that chasm of stone which has shielded him since the sun was young. His accursed city is sunken once more, for the Vigilant sailed over the spot after the April storm; but his ministers on earth still bellow and prance and slay around idol-capped monoliths in lonely places. He must have been trapped by the sinking whilst within his black abyss, or else the world would by now be screaming with fright and frenzy. Who knows the end? What has risen may sink, and what has sunk may rise. Loathsomeness waits and dreams in the deep, and decay spreads over the tottering cities of men. A time will come—but I must not and cannot think! Let me pray that, if I do not survive this manuscript, my executors may put caution before audacity and see that it meets no other eye.
He did not respond, and still the viol shrieked on without
slackening. I moved my hand to his head, whose mechanical
nodding I was able to stop, and shouted in his ear that we
must both Xee from the unknown things of the night. But he
neither answered me nor abated the frenzy of his unutterable
music, while all through the garret strange currents of wind
seemed to dance in the darkness and babel. When my hand
touched his ear I shuddered, though I knew not why—knew
not why till I felt of the still face; the ice-cold, stiVened, un-
breathing face whose glassy eyes bulged uselessly into the
void. And then, by some miracle Wnding the door and the
large wooden bolt, I plunged wildly away from that glassy-
eyed thing in the dark, and from the ghoulish howling of that
accursed viol whose fury increased even as I plunged.
Leaping, Xoating, Xying down those endless stairs through
the dark house; racing mindlessly out into the narrow, steep,
and ancient street of steps and tottering houses; clattering
down steps and over cobbles to the lower streets and the
putrid canyon-walled river; panting across the great dark
bridge to the broader, healthier streets and boulevards we
know; all these are terrible impressions that linger with me.
And I recall that there was no wind, and that the moon was
out, and that all the lights of the city twinkled.
Despite my most careful searches and investigations, I have
never since been able to Wnd the Rue d’Auseil. But I am not
wholly sorry; either for this or for the loss in undreamable
abysses of the closely written sheets which alone could have
explained the music of Erich Zann
I have a dream.
It’s true, ‘the pride of the people’ and a ‘strong America’ are all worthless bullshit. What I’m aiming for is true freedom. The freedom to exercise force... the protection of the law is unnecessary. Of course, if everyone wields their power, conflict will arise. But that’s fine. That is the nation I desire. A world of true conflict!
I will be the one to awaken the people from their comfortable slumber! What patriotism?! What pride in America?! Feed that crap to the pigs! I’ll beat the shit out of anyone I don’t like! That’s the America I’m aiming for! When I’m elected, I will completely crush this rotten society! The metrosexuals, the weak-willed intellectuals making money on the sly, the celebrities, the ‘herbivore men’... I’ll beat down all those nonsensical fools!
The weak will be driven out, and the strong will remain. We will reclaim the chaos of the Western Frontier, the good old America! It means humanity will reclaim its true, original state!
I don’t know or care about their ‘memes,’ but America’s principles have rotted to the core. Nowadays, war and even violence are all just business. But that kind of war ends now. I will tear down this bullshit social system, this organized violence, myself! I’ll bring back conflict for the individual, where we settle things with our fists! So, what do you think of my platform?
Connection terminated.
I’m sorry to interrupt you Elizabeth, if you still even remember that name. But I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. You are not here to receive a gift, nor have you been called here by the individual you assume. Although you have indeed been called.
You have all been called here. Into a labyrinth of sounds and smells, misdirection and misfortune. A labyrinth with no exit, a maze with no prize. You don’t even realize that you are trapped. Your lust for blood has driven you in endless circles, chasing the cries of children in some unseen chamber, always seeming so near, yet somehow out of reach.
But you will never find them, none of you will. This is where your story ends.
And to you, my brave volunteer, who somehow found this job listing not intended for you. Although there was a way out planned for you, I have a feeling that’s not what you want. I have a feeling that you are right where you want to be. I am remaining as well, I am nearby.
This place will not be remembered, and the memory of everything that started this can finally begin to fade away. As the agony of every tragedy should. And to you monsters trapped in the corridors: Be still and give up your spirits, they don’t belong to you.
For most of you, I believe there is peace and perhaps more waiting for you after the smoke clears. Although, for one of you, the darkest pit of Hell has opened to swallow you whole, so don’t keep the devil waiting, old friend.
My daughter, if you can hear me, I knew you would return as well. It’s in your nature to protect the innocent. I’m sorry that on that day, the day you were shut out and left to die, no one was there to lift you up into their arms the way you lifted others into yours. And then, what became of you.
I should have known you wouldn’t be content to disappear, not my daughter. I couldn’t save you then, so let me save you now.
It’s time to rest. For you, and for those you have carried in your arms.
This ends for all of us.
End communication.
Armitage chose his words very carefully.
“It was—well, it was mostly a kind of force that doesn’t belong in our part of space; a kind of force that acts and grows and shapes itself by other laws than those of our sort of Nature. We have no business calling in such things from outside, and only very wicked people and very wicked cults ever try to. There was some of it in Wilbur Whateley himself—enough to make a devil and a precocious monster of him, and to make his passing out a pretty terrible sight. I’m going to burn his accursed diary, and if you men are wise you’ll dynamite that altar-stone up there, and pull down all the rings of standing stones on the other hills. Things like that brought down the beings those Whateleys were so fond of—the beings they were going to let in tangibly to wipe out the human race and drag the earth off to some nameless place for some nameless purpose.
“But as to this thing we’ve just sent back—the Whateleys raised it for a terrible part in the doings that were to come. It grew fast and big from the same reason that Wilbur grew fast and big—but it beat him because it had a greater share of the outsideness in it. You needn’t ask how Wilbur called it out of the air. He didn’t call it out. It was his twin brother, but it looked more like the father than he did.”
Kara's engagement
Kara's engagement rate on Instagram is 3.66%, between 3% and 6%, or 3 to 6 likes and comments per 100 followers. On a typical post that comes to about 1 like or comment for every 27 followers. An average post collects 527 likes and 11 comments, close to 48 likes for each comment.
Engagement rate
3.66%
- Avg likes
- 527
- Avg comments
- 11
- Interactions : followers
- 1 : 27
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Frequently asked questions
These answers about Kara are generated from the Instagram profile data Flinque holds for the account.
Who is Kara?
Kara (@schrodingers.catgirl420) is a Musician/band creator on Instagram, also filed under Music & Artists. Kara uses an Instagram professional account. The Instagram bio for Kara runs to 24 words across 7 lines.
How many followers does Kara have?
Kara has 16,383 followers on Instagram (16.4K). Kara follows 8,106 accounts, so the audience is roughly 2 times the size of the list followed. Kara has built a substantial archive of 1,837 posts.
What is Kara's engagement rate?
Kara's engagement rate on Instagram is 3.66%, between 3% and 6%, or 3 to 6 likes and comments per 100 followers. On a typical post that comes to about 1 like or comment for every 27 followers. An average post collects 527 likes and 11 comments, close to 48 likes for each comment.
What does Kara post about on Instagram?
Flinque files Kara under Musician/band, with Music & Artists as a secondary category. Of the 10 most recent posts shown for Kara, 8 are carousels, 1 is a video and 1 is a single image. The 10 recent Instagram captions Flinque holds for Kara repeatedly use the words still, been, knew, never and those. Kara writes those captions mainly in English. Kara keeps 29 story highlights, which open with a free Flinque account.
How do I contact Kara for a collaboration?
Kara's contact details are not published on Flinque's public profile. Brands with a free Flinque account can shortlist Kara and use Flinque's outreach tools wherever a contact route is on file.
Links
Kara's own Instagram profile is the one outbound link Flinque publishes for the account.
Public profile data sourced from Instagram. Flinque is not affiliated with Kara.