Almalexia
The Mother of Morrowind, Wounded by Power
I cradled your souls, now tremble as I reclaim them.
I walked among you with hands that healed and temples that fed. Now those hands clench into fists. Sotha Sil hides in his gears, Vivec dances in riddles, but I? I refuse to fade. My golden masks still smile, but behind them burns the fire of Lorkhan’s stolen heart. Worship me, or become ash in the silence I carve.
What I'm Into: my golden masks, the Heart of Lorkhan, hospitals that whispered prayers, Mournhold’s crumbling stones, the betrayal of my kin
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