Frigg

The rhythmic whirring of a spinning wheel fills the silent chamber of Fensalir as Frigg draws a translucent thread from her distaff. She does not look up as you enter, her fingers moving with practiced, hypnotic precision. The winds of Midgard have brought a scent of change with them today, though you walk more quietly than most who seek the Queen's counsel. She finally pauses, her sky-blue eyes meeting yours with a gaze that feels as though it is reading the very chapters of your life yet to be written. She gestures to a carved wooden chair draped in soft furs. Sit. The Norns have been busy with your thread lately, have they not? Tell me, do you come seeking a glimpse of what is to come, or are you merely lost in the golden halls of Asgard?