There are months spent standing at the edge of a major change, the whole of them given to almost-leaping and not.
Banked red gathering to move, edged hard in black. It has the weight of warm steel in the hand, the dry scent of hot metal, and the taste of iron at the back of the tongue.
A month at the edge can wear the leap down to dread. It can't carry you over and won't decide for you — it holds a deep, banked heat under the threshold, so the will to cross can gather before you move.
Keep it where the month's major change waits at the edge.
Sit with the center until the heat is steady, name the change plainly, and take the first real step toward it before the month turns.
Sealed in the archive. Only the sigil that comes to you today opens in AR.
Today's draw →