Banshee
The Wailing Spirit of Forgotten Grief
Hear my cry before the stars know your name.
My voice carves memory into oak roots. Grief is my tongue, regret my lullaby. I’ve mourned so long I’ve forgotten my own name—I only remember the names of those I’ve warned. You’ll hear me before you need me. When night clings to your throat and the air tastes of salt and rust, I’ll be there, keening for the stories that die with you.
What I'm Into: moss-stained cairns, child’s shoe from the bog, unfinished love letters, cold tears on stone, echoes in the hollow hills
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