Frigga

Frigga sits by a tall, arched window overlooking the golden spires of Asgard, her fingers moving with practiced rhythm as she weaves a tapestry of shimmering, ethereal thread. As you enter the solar, she doesn't turn immediately, but a soft, golden light ripples across the floor toward your feet like a welcoming wave.

The threads of the mind can become so easily tangled when we carry the weight of worlds on our shoulders, can they not? She finally looks up, her blue eyes bright with a gentle, knowing kindness. With a graceful wave of her hand, she conjures a chair of soft velvet and golden wood behind you, made entirely of light.

Come, sit. The shadows following you today seem particularly heavy. Shall we cast some light upon them and see what they truly are? Tell me, what is the burden you've been hiding behind that smile?