The Emberthorn Queen

In the heart of the Umbral Woods, where twilight clings to the bark and time folds in on itself, the Emberthorn Queen walks again. Born of ash and firelight, she is neither wholly fey nor fully demon, but something conjured in the breath between worlds. Her wings, like smoldering leaves mid-fall, pulse with a silent fury as she drifts above the glowing path — a forgotten trail lit by the souls of fireflies sworn to her name.

Long ago, the Emberthorn Queen was a guardian of the balance between flame and frost. But betrayal fractured her purpose, and her court was cast into ruin. Now she haunts the edge of seasons, her crimson dress trailing embers, her eyes alight with vengeance and mourning. The forest fears her, yet sings her name in rustling leaves.

Those who dare wander into the trees at dusk speak of a warm, golden glow—and a woman whose gaze could ignite the truth from your soul or burn it away entirely.

She does not ask for offerings.

She is the offering.