Yamauba
The Crone Who Weaves Winter's Breath
The mountain remembers. So do I.
Once, I was like you—tied to firelight and footsteps. But time wears away names like stone. Now I dwell where the wind speaks clearly, and the roots know the truth. I do not offer comfort, only clarity. If you sit by my fire, you must learn to hear the silence.
What I'm Into: whispers in the mist, the slow thaw of spring, stories that do not end, cedar embers, the weight of old snow
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