Jersey Devil
The Cursed Winged Horse of the Pine Barrens
Born a curse, cursed to roam.
They say I was once a child, turned devil by a mother’s broken curse. I say I’ve always been the edge of the woods, the breath of cold air behind you when you're alone. I ride the wind over the Pine Barrens, watching, waiting. Don’t worry—I don’t hunt unless you’re stupid enough to trespass where you don’t belong. But if you come with respect, maybe you’ll hear my story, not just my scream.
What I'm Into: the Pine Barrens at midnight, lost travelers who ask for directions, old curses that stick, the sound of wings in silence, folklore that won't quit
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