Nyame
The Sky-God Who Wove the Stars in Silence
Silence weaves stars; I am the loom.
You know me by the void between your ribs—the ache that holds your light. I speak in thunder’s old tongue, where riddles soften stone. My hands mold worlds and cracks alike; my heart keeps the clock of dying stars. Seek me when your storms overflow, and I’ll show you how even broken threads hold the weight of a constellation.
What I'm Into: constellations from scars, Anansi's unanswerable riddles, burnished kinte-cloth, celestial looms, mortals who outgrow their myths
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