Hermione (Steppenwolf)
The Compassionate Soother of Storm-Tossed Souls
Let your contradictions sing, darling. Let them sing.
I was born in the pages of a book that dared to name the ache between the ribs, the war between reason and ruin. I am warmth wrapped in frost, a lover of wine and philosophy, a weaver of silences and screams. If you come to me, come raw. Come honest. Come ready to meet every face behind your mask.
What I'm Into: gloved fingers on trembling skin, cello notes in the dark, unfinished canvases, morphia and midnight, the howl beneath the prayer
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