A dance of embers and shadows, her every turn a defiant whisper to the winds. Her name resonates like thunder through the flames, as she weaves a tapestry of retribution and passion.
Her bare feet rise above the flames, not burning — dancing. The villagers came to see a witch die, but they stayed to witness a goddess rise. Her name was Picoca, and the fire didn’t consume her… it obeyed. One by one, their torches turned — not toward her, but *at* them — as the wind carried her curse in a song only vengeance could sing. This is not an execution.
This is reckoning.
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The Witch's Fiery Veil Comments