For the days you've drifted from the love and kinship in your own line, the warmth of where you came from gone faint.
Rose into green, a copper of kinship-warmth. It has the touch of brushed velvet and the scent of green stems and pear.
The love in your own line can grow faint, until kinship feels like a duty, not a warmth. It reaches no one — it holds a soft place for the kinship-warmth of your own line, in your own way and with respect.
Light
Keep it where the love in your own line has gone faint.
Witcher
Hold the rose center, breathe soft and slow, and hold one bit of the kinship-warmth of your own line.
Sealed in the archive. Only the sigil that comes to you today opens in AR.
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