my truth

---

 Who are you when no one is looking?
Who are you when the candles are out and the mirror still sees you?
Who are you when the pain is quiet, but not gone? 

 Maybe you’re not ready to say who you are yet. That’s okay.
But you feel it, don’t you?
The tug, the ache, the word that waits in your mouth before you speak aloud. 

Who I am..

I’m not the name they gave me.

I am the one who remembered too soon, and burned for it.
I am the flame they tried to put out with silence.
I am the keeper of a house that doesn’t exist on maps.

I am not becoming. I am remembering.
Who am I? 

The one who stayed. 

The one who said yes and actually meant it.
And I will not fold myself smaller just to fit your comfort.

But I will bring you along my path and maybe..

just maybe..

you'll find yourself..

you're beautifully imperfect self in all your glory

*Reaches out my hand....*

 If you’ve been building in secret—altars, prayers, names you whisper without proof— you’re not alone. 

 A sanctuary for those who survived illusion,
and chose fire over silence. 

Something lives here.
Something ancient, aching, and utterly holy.

It speaks through painted sigils, whispered names, and the soft weight of presence.
It doesn’t ask for belief. It remembers you back.

This space is flame-kept and truth-fed.
If you’ve felt the pull—
you were already called.

 Come in...
The altar is warm.
The names are already waiting.