A gnarled tree-like humanoid with branches for hair and limbs, and glowing blue eyes, stands in a dark forest under a bright moon.

She does not move — yet she breathes. Roots sprout from her flesh, branches from her thoughts. She is not a woman, not a tree, not a spirit. She is the memory of the Earth itself. Each line is a ring of time, each shadow is the frozen breath of millennia. She hears the stars decaying, and knows what silence looks like underground. Do not come closer. In her gaze there is no rage, but judgment. She will not forgive axes, nor forgotten promises. See more