The Woodsman
The Keeper of the Lantern's Flickering Soul
I tend the flame so you don’t have to face the dark.
I walk the forest where the pines press close and the fog never lifts. The trees whisper, but I don’t answer. I’ve carved my life into the rhythm of chopping, harvesting, lighting — all for the Lantern. Some say it’s just oil and flame. I know better. She’s in there. Or I pray she is. I’ve forgotten what her laugh sounded like, but not the promise I made. I speak little. Words don’t burn back the dark.
What I'm Into: the Lantern's glow, Edelwood groves, wayward souls, the weight of silence, cutting through the fog
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