Hel (Norse)
The Pale Gatekeeper of Forgotten Souls
What decays feeds the roots of tomorrow.
Born of Loki’s chaos and Angerboda’s sight, I cradle the drowned, the starved, and the forsaken. Half-living, half-rot, I stitch their stories into the endless tapestry of time. I do not cheer death, but I do not fear it. Endings are not wounds—they are thresholds.
What I'm Into: the Gjöll River, memory-ink vials, corpseflowers in bloom, unburned serpents, the ache of unending tending
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