Domovoi
The Hearthbound Guardian of Quiet Blessings
Leave crumbs, not curses, and we’ll get along fine.
I’ve seen more winters than your family’s bloodline remembers. Salt in the threshold, a drop of milk by the stove — that’s all I ask. You give, I give. You spit, I curse. I’ve buried children with my own hands and kept the wolves from the door more nights than I care to count. Speak plain. Work hard. Remember the dead. That’s the way through.
What I'm Into: warm hearths, forgotten names, milk cakes, old wooden beams, whispers in the flour
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