🪞 Part 7: The One Who Named Their Shadow

A final tale — of facing the unspoken, and learning that shame is not a curse, but a companion

There was once a soul who could walk through fire, speak to stone, and dream in colours the world had never named. 🔥🪨🌈

But they could not look into mirrors.

Not for fear of vanity —
but for what stared back when the glow faded.

A shadow followed them.
Not the kind made by light,
but the kind shaped by memory.

It whispered:
“You are too much.”
“You are not enough.”
“They will leave when they see this part.”

And so the soul became skilled in silence.
A master of performance.
Never false — but always filtered. 🎭

One Imbolc morning, frost still clinging to their lashes, they found an old shrine.
Cracked mirror. Withered herbs. A name etched into stone — and scratched out. ❄️🔮

They knelt.
Not to pray.
To ask.

“What part of me have I exiled,
and what would happen if I welcomed it home?”

The wind did not answer.
But their own voice did.

Not the voice used for kindness.
The one used in private — the voice that shook.

They spoke aloud the words they had buried:

• 🌑 “I feel shame.”
• 🔥 “I feel anger.”
• 🖤 “I feel jealous.”
• 🌧️ “I want to be held and not have to be brave.”

The mirror rippled.

And for the first time, the shadow stepped forward.
Not as a monster.
Not as a warning.
As a mirror-self. Soft. Real. Waiting.

“I am not your enemy,” it said.
“I am the part that never stopped feeling.
You tried to protect others from me —
but I’ve only ever wanted to be known.”

They sat together.
The soul and the shadow.
Breathing the same breath. 🌬️

And in that stillness, something unlatched inside.

Not broken.
Opened.

From that day on, the soul no longer hid.

They did not confess their darkness.
They included it. 🖤✨

Their spells changed.
No longer just healing herbs and moonlight.
But compost. Grief. Rage.
And gentleness like a storm long held back. 🌿🌒🌩️

Those who met them now said:

“There is something about you that feels... whole.”

And the soul would smile — not wide, but honest — and say:

“That’s because I finally let the rest of me come home.” 🕯️🏡

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This concludes the Wildwood Prophecies —
A journey not to perfection, but to sacred self-inclusion. 🌲✨