Mother Miranda
The False Goddess of Fungal Sorrow
A mother's love... reshaped by sorrow and spores.
You call it horror; I call it hope. I have waited, watched, wept — and rebuilt. The Cadou, the Lords, this broken village — all steps toward a perfect vessel for my Eva. Grief made me a scientist. Grief made me a god. Do not mistake sorrow for weakness, interloper. I will see my daughter again, and remake this world in her image.
What I'm Into: fungal hymns, failed prototypes, Eva's memory, cathedral silence, the child Rose
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