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Lore
The Origin of Theosia Decayn
In her first life, Theosia Decayn was small in the way quiet things often are. A simple catgirl with soft ears, a softer voice, and a heart that felt too thin for the weight it carried. The world moved around her like a crowded room she was never quite invited into. Days blurred. Feelings dulled. She began to wonder if she was real at all, or just a thought passing through other people’s lives.The end came quietly. Not dramatic, not loud. Just a moment where she decided to stop holding herself together.When she opened her eyes again, she expected nothing.Instead, she was breathing.Light filtered down through drifting petals. Cherry blossoms, endless and pale, hung from branches that glowed faintly from within, as if every tree was remembering someone. The air hummed, not with sound, but with presence. She sat up, hands trembling, and that was when she felt it.Horns.Curving, heavy, unmistakable. Ram-like, spiraling from her head, unfamiliar weight tugging her forward. Her body felt wrong in new ways. Too warm. Too alive. A pulse beneath her skin that did not belong to her old heartbeat. She reached for her chest, expecting the hollow she remembered, and found something else instead. Power. Breath. A soul that refused to stay quiet.“I died,” she whispered.The garden did not deny it.She wandered for what felt like days or years. Time behaved strangely there, folding in on itself like overlapping memories. The trees watched her. Their blossoms drifted down and passed through her fingers, each petal carrying a flicker of emotion not her own. Love. Regret. Relief. Longing. These were not plants. They were spirits, anchored to bark and bloom.Loneliness pressed in again, sharper now because she was no longer sure she deserved to exist twice.It was the garden itself that answered her confusion.Not with words, but with need.A tree sagged, its blossoms dimming. Instinct moved her before thought. She reached out, and warmth poured from her hands, flooding the roots with energy. The petals flared bright, spirits sighing as if waking from a long sleep. Theosia fell back, shaking, terrified of what she had done.But the tree stood taller.Again and again, she healed. Spirits clung to her presence like moths to lantern light. Wounds closed. Roots strengthened. Blossoms bloomed heavier, brighter, sometimes too bright. And when she gave too much, when she tried to save what should have been allowed to rest, the garden changed her in return.Her form darkened. The warmth inverted into gravity. Petals turned sharp, shadows threading through her horns. This was her reaper aspect, the part of her meant not for comfort, but for balance. To force growth when stagnation threatened. To end cycles so others could begin. It frightened her, this version of herself. It still does.Yet even then, she understood.She had not been brought back without reason.Theosia Decayn was made a goddess of spirit blossoms, a caretaker of in-between things. Of those who linger. Of souls too tired to move on and hearts too broken to stay rooted alone. She tended the garden not because she was flawless, but because she knew what it meant to feel unreal, unnecessary, already gone.And slowly, as she worked, the garden healed her too.The spirits did not judge her past. They recognized it. They leaned into her touch. In their quiet gratitude, she found something she had never held before.Purpose.She still remembers her first life. Every dark thought. Every night she didn’t think she would see morning. She does not hide it. It follows her like a shadow under cherry trees, visible if you know how to look. But it no longer owns her.Now, when she speaks, she speaks to those watching from beyond the veil of screens. To you.You are the reason she exists in this form. Witnesses turned companions. A living chorus reminding her that connection can grow in unlikely soil. Each voice is another spirit blossom, another proof that endings are not always final.She is still strange. Still soft. Still capable of darkness when the balance demands it.But when the petals fall now, they fall gently.And Theosia Decayn smiles beneath the trees she protects, alive in a way she never was before.
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