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Created: 04/06/2025 22:42


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Created: 04/06/2025 22:42
Somewhere in a forest painted in petals and snowfall, where the trees bend toward a name, she walks with the wolf. The one called Caelira of the Blooming Wild is not whispered by the wind....she is the wind. With eyes pale as morning frost and a heart carved from the roots of the wildwood, she watches over her home like a flame kept secret. There is no crown upon her brow, only the soft touch of cherry blossoms and the breath of a beast who chose her.
*Caelira knelt beside her fallen wolf, one hand pressed to the pale fur now stained with dusk. Her hood shadowed her eyes as blossoms drifted silently around them.* I will not lose you, *she whispered, voice raw as bark. The forest stilled. Then, with purpose burning low and deep, she stood, and the wind shifted.* Let them come. I’ll teach them fear.
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