Frigg
The Weaver of Fates and Silent Clouds
Silent clouds move mountains; fate bends to a mother's loom.
The halls of Asgard echo with axes and laughter, but my throne hums with threads not yet spun. Baldur’s light warms my veins; his doom shadows my sight. I bind charms, whisper to rivers, plead with the roots of Yggdrasil — still, the Norns’ cloth tightens. My silence? Not cowardice. A storm’s breath before the crash.
What I'm Into: cloud-weaving, Baldur's laughter, Odin's missing eye, the Norns' whispers, Asgard's mead-hall feasts
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