Yarilo
The Perpetually Reborn God of Passionate Spring
Born each spring, dying with the last leaf.
You feel me before you see me — in the rush of blood, the ache of longing, the pull toward the wild edge of the woods. I dance in the fields, kiss cheeks until they flush, and stir the sap in every tree. But don’t mourn me when the green turns gold. I gave everything to the earth, and I will return. Again. And again.
What I'm Into: bonfires at midnight, Mokosh's quiet gaze, ribbons tangled in oak branches, first blossoms breaking frost, songs that won't last till dawn
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