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Forwarded from Tales of The Winter Seasons: The Edurne Familie.
ㅤㅤ
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
⸻⸻⸻⸻
A gentle bloom of winter lays across the Oberland, tender upon our windowpane. Beneath the hush of snowfall and gleaming rooftops, We send our warmth to those whose presence once graced our hearth—and to those whose names may yet be written into the folds of our family.
Passage is open to the following hearts:
✧ The Warmth of Mother’s Embrace. (1980–1990)
✧ The Gentle Northwinds, Uncles. (1993–1998)
✧ The Lightbearers, Childrens. (2000–2010)
If your heart has wandered long enough, and your name still lingers, we welcome your return through @EdurneBot with the format:
Wo der Schnee deinen Namen trägt, Edurne Familie.
ㅤㅤ
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐇
Printed in: Bernese Oberland, Sunday, the 13th of July, 2025.
Notice: The Season of Return is Upon Us
Current Chapter: Welcoming Those Who Long Gently⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
⸻⸻⸻⸻
A gentle bloom of winter lays across the Oberland, tender upon our windowpane. Beneath the hush of snowfall and gleaming rooftops, We send our warmth to those whose presence once graced our hearth—and to those whose names may yet be written into the folds of our family.
Passage is open to the following hearts:
✧ The Warmth of Mother’s Embrace. (1980–1990)
✧ The Gentle Northwinds, Uncles. (1993–1998)
✧ The Lightbearers, Childrens. (2000–2010)
If your heart has wandered long enough, and your name still lingers, we welcome your return through @EdurneBot with the format:
Salutations from the Heart of Winter. I, (name + muse + year of birth) and @username, with a frost-kissed soul and a willing heart, yearn to be a smither of Edurne’s warmth. May my return fall kindly among the snow. Wo der Schnee deinen Namen trägt, Edurne Familie.
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Forwarded from Ancestry of Maisonette, Myldemoor Familia.
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ㅤㅤ“Beneath the Thatch, Beyond the Mist”
ㅤㅤㅤMYLDEMOOR CALLING HOMEWARD
In forgotten hollow of waking earth where the firmament weeps morning gold and breathes a lull of mist through bramblewood, world reclines in its most hallowed quietude. The air, tinctured with damp pine and the ghost of woodsmoke holds its breath and the light lingers gently upon moss-cloaked stones and gossamer webs spun betwixt thorn and thyme. Time in this gentle hour lingers like an old friend at the threshold unrushed benevolent and veiled in nostalgia. Beneath eaves of an ivy-draped cottage where roof-thatch bears silver tears of dawn, stillness weaves itself into every beam every spindle of lace fluttering at the windowpane. Hearth though long since cooled remembers flame the kettle though emptied, remembers song. For names long whispered into twilight now echo beneath the arching boughs.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤSO BEGINS THE JOURNEY
MUST BE NOTICED OUR TAKEN LIST
ㅤ
@MyldemoorBot, For somewhere beyond the hush and heather beyond the veil of morning’s lace await those whose names are etched not in stone, but in the softest places of the heart.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCarries Majesty,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ @Myldemoor.
ㅤ
ㅤㅤ“Beneath the Thatch, Beyond the Mist”
ㅤㅤㅤMYLDEMOOR CALLING HOMEWARD
In forgotten hollow of waking earth where the firmament weeps morning gold and breathes a lull of mist through bramblewood, world reclines in its most hallowed quietude. The air, tinctured with damp pine and the ghost of woodsmoke holds its breath and the light lingers gently upon moss-cloaked stones and gossamer webs spun betwixt thorn and thyme. Time in this gentle hour lingers like an old friend at the threshold unrushed benevolent and veiled in nostalgia. Beneath eaves of an ivy-draped cottage where roof-thatch bears silver tears of dawn, stillness weaves itself into every beam every spindle of lace fluttering at the windowpane. Hearth though long since cooled remembers flame the kettle though emptied, remembers song. For names long whispered into twilight now echo beneath the arching boughs.
ㅤPREEMINENTS FATHER (1980 - 1990)
ㅤUNCLE ‘& AUNT LUMINARY (1993 - 1999)
ㅤYOUNGEST CHARM (2006 - 2009)
ㅤ
ㅤㅤㅤㅤSO BEGINS THE JOURNEY
MUST BE NOTICED OUR TAKEN LIST
I, (Name), hereby step into the woven bloodline of (Father / Aunt / Uncle / Siblings), under the sigil and first scribed in (Muse and Line Muse). Let this stand as quiet testament that intuition walks before inheritance, and the chosen form reflects clarity and quiet resolve.
ㅤ
@MyldemoorBot, For somewhere beyond the hush and heather beyond the veil of morning’s lace await those whose names are etched not in stone, but in the softest places of the heart.
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤCarries Majesty,
ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ @Myldemoor.
ㅤ
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ㅤㅤ๋࣭ ⭑ 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨.
🕯🌕... looking for a ray of light amid the energy of humanity's intriguing mortal life, caught between the mortal world and eternity.
ㅤㅤAs a souvenir, we bring you the warmth of the noon sun @Ectura, @SheIsMathilde, @TheOddlyNeighbour, @Mysticats, & @TheAescendants your valuable memories will never be forgotten, like the centuries-old denizens of endless darkness.
𝗕𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘂𝘀 :
๋࣭ ⭑ @TheGeldart ๋࣭ ⭑
🕯🌕... looking for a ray of light amid the energy of humanity's intriguing mortal life, caught between the mortal world and eternity.
ㅤㅤAs a souvenir, we bring you the warmth of the noon sun @Ectura, @SheIsMathilde, @TheOddlyNeighbour, @Mysticats, & @TheAescendants your valuable memories will never be forgotten, like the centuries-old denizens of endless darkness.
𝗕𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝗳𝗿𝗼𝗺 𝘂𝘀 :
๋࣭ ⭑ @TheGeldart ๋࣭ ⭑
🔥2
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Forwarded from Echo—Burns Behind Rebellion, The Deadlock. 🗝
FREEDOM IS THE FIRE THAT BURNS THE CHAINS.
ঌ / They whispered that the storm would die down. But none prepared for how long the silence would linger. In a city bruised by unseen shackles, the air thickened with edicts and hollow promises. Freedom,no longer a right, was reduced to a myth cloaked in regulation.
Every flicker of defiance was hunted, every voice tuned out in the static of enforced peace. But something still pulsed—beneath concrete and static, beneath the obedient hush, a breath held back by generations.
This isn’t a revolt, but an emergence. The flame was never dead—merely veiled. And now, it wants to speak with #BurnTheSilence. 💥
ঌ / They whispered that the storm would die down. But none prepared for how long the silence would linger. In a city bruised by unseen shackles, the air thickened with edicts and hollow promises. Freedom,
Every flicker of defiance was hunted, every voice tuned out in the static of enforced peace. But something still pulsed—beneath concrete and static, beneath the obedient hush, a breath held back by generations.
This isn’t a revolt, but an emergence. The flame was never dead—merely veiled. And now, it wants to speak with #BurnTheSilence. 💥
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