Gentle hands, unsettling smile.
from Verdantweald

Mirella has tended the Green Hills bastion of Mossgate since before she could name every tree in its thorn-wall. She knows which vines should reach for which stones and which ones have started growing toward cold instead of light.
Rain-dark cloak stitched with seed beads. Hair braided with dried lavender and thorn-reed. Speaks softly, like she is telling a secret to the air itself.
Hedge-mystic → Forest Warden → “Keeper of the Living Wall.” Mossgate’s defences are part stone, part living thorn — and Mirella is the reason the thorn still lives. A small community remains inside the bastion walls. She has not told them how far the frost has already climbed.
What she does not mention: she was touched by the Corruption once, early, when the first thorn-shoots began to frost over. She survived. She has not forgotten what it felt like to almost be collected — and she has not told anyone that she knows exactly why her spirit-lights drift toward the cold.
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