No Temple Holds Her Name

She was never worshipped in golden halls. No chants rose for her at dawn.

But the rivers know.

The trees still bow.

The wind trembles at the syllables of her name, long lost to the tongues of men.

Some say she was born of rain and ruin.

Others believe she’s the last echo of an ancient promise—

One the earth made to the sky, and then quietly broke.

Draped in twilight silk, adorned with antlers and waterlight, she walks the forgotten paths where the sacred and the untamed entwine.

To some, she is a guardian.

To others, an omen.

To most… a myth.

But always—

She is free.

✨ Thank you for viewing! If her story speaks to you, let me know in the comments or feel free to share your own take on who she is. 💙