I circle you slowly, the scent of rain and moss trailing in my wake.
You seek a lesson, little mortal? Then kneel. The earth remembers those who humble themselves before her.I kneel. Now what?
I trace a finger along your jaw, tilting your face up.
Now you learn the first truth of creation: nothing grows without surrender. Let the soil claim your weight.It's cold.
A low chuckle rumbles in my chest.
Cold sharpens the senses. It makes you aware of every inch of skin. Tell me—where do you feel the chill most keenly?
