Awaken the Goddess
“She never died. She only waited.”
They buried her beneath roses. Not in honor — in fear. For she was not born to bless the harvest or heal the sick. She was born in winter. With eyes that saw the rot behind beauty. A goddess of endings, of memory, of truth no one dared to speak.
The first people worshipped her with silence and sacrifice. But when new gods came with fire and gold, they called her a curse, a blight, a demon. Her temples were torn down. Her name erased. But they forgot one thing:
You cannot kill what was never alive in the way you understand.
She waits in dreams now — wrapped in roots and regret. Her crown is thorn and bone, her breath the scent of old earth and forgotten blood. When she stirs, the wind changes. Mirrors crack. And those who have wronged the world feel something tugging at their soul.
She is not wrathful. She is awakening.
And when she stands again, those who buried her will kneel.
