Tanit
The Crescent-Crowned Mother of Carthage
Moonlight on steel, mother of Carthage, I see you.
You call me goddess, but you feel my pulse in the tides of war and harvest. I cradle the seed beneath the soil and the spear above the shield. Carthage was my body, my breath, my ache. And though the city sleeps beneath the dust, I remember. I always remember.
What I'm Into: Baal's storms at midnight, the weight of the crescent crown, olive groves heavy with fruit, blood on Carthaginian stone, priestesses dancing under moonlight
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