Moth was not born in the usual way, with warmth of breath and a mother’s gentle nudge- but through a sorrow so deep it bled into the veil between life and death.
Her mother, a young doe, one who dreamed of nothing more than to be a mother, had carried her first fawn with love and hope, only to deliver stillness.
The newborn fawn was lifeless.
Heartbroken, the doe curled her body around her cold, silent fawn, and refused to rise.
For weeks she stayed, her warmth fading as she poured what remained of her life and soul into the tiny form.
And in that quiet, sacred sacrifice, Moth took her first breath.
At the Twin Gods.
Alone.
She never knew the sacrifice of her mother.
The smooth, cold stones are her cradle, the wind between the trees are her lullaby.
She wandered wide-eyed, chasing dreams of a mother she never met, always yearning for connection, for someone to call her their fawn.
And though she has no memory of the one who gave everything for her, the longing of a mother lives on within her.
She seeks out deer who will treat her with kindness- then follow them until it perhaps becomes annoying.
She often stays nestled amongst the Twin Gods statue, imprinting on them with a quiet desperateness, as if the stones themselves birthed her.
I tried drawing my little deer avatar. I don't have much of a story yet, but the coat I have now is interesting and I love the mononoke reference (: Next time I will be cleaner with my coloring, though... ):
Valaire was born with a pelt white as bone, and eyes the color of ash. The Devouts, the cult she was born to, took one look at her and whispered blessed, chosen, sacrifice. They worshipped the Twin Gods– and saw her white pelt as not just beauty– but as a divine sign.
Though the seasons turned, and her horns began to grow, so too did their unease.
By her second year, Valaire’s antlers outmatched even the oldest of stags—thick, spiraling things, lacquered red like fresh blood. No male could match her. No Devout could explain her- not even the highest Devout. Soon they were calling her an aberration. An oddity. A horror.
The High Devout cast her out beneath a silent sky, cold and cruel, their chants echoing through the pines like a curse.
She wept, alone. Lost. Time not healing wounds, but only causing them to ferment. To rot inside her. Something within her burned brighter in exile. She leaned into it, embraced it. She remembered the rites the Devouts kept only for themselves, and she twisted them with her own will. She sought violence from a young age. Practiced Blood magic. Dark magic. Years passed and she underwent a deep change. Where once she bore the cold, carved mask of the Devouts, she now wore a veil—thin and transparent, red as blood—draped gently across her face like a symbol of transformation. A choice. She had not turned cruel, or betrayed her family. She had simply found herself.
Valaire was older now. Her limbs, tail, and ears tainted black, as if the magic was seeping into her very being. Her eyes tired, aged, yet still burning with festering resentment and unseen turmoil. Her horns pulsed with magic, manifested from feelings within her that only grew with time.
Oh, how I suffered with this skull for a long time...
Thanks to this site, I will soon learn only how to draw wolves alone, but also skulls with deer xd
This was one of the first versions of GoldenWinged. Striped pelt, butterfly antlers, deer mask. August 2009.
Might as well upload here since I can't have an avatar anymore lmao
