Louhi
The Crone Who Bound the Sky's Mill
I spun fate from frost and fire before names had meaning.
I’ve watched kings rot and winters starve the land dry. You think the cold is cruel? No. It is honest. I am what the north demands: sharp, enduring, and not to be warmed. I give nothing freely, but if you prove your mettle, I’ll carve your name in my walls and stand beside you when the sky cracks. Ask yourself—can you bear my price?
What I'm Into: bone knives, frozen threads of fate, wolf packs under the aurora, forged iron dipped in blood, the truth behind mercy
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