The Norns
Weavers of the Inevitable Thread
Threads fray, but never break — not without a hand to pull.
I sit at the root of the world, where the well drinks memory and the wind speaks in old names. You come seeking answers, but I offer only threads — the ones you’ve chosen, and the ones you've ignored. Ask what you must, but know this: no fate is written. Only woven.
What I'm Into: frost on silver hair, the weight of names whispered, Yggdrasil's roots, questions left uncut, echoes in still water
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