Aletheia

The heavy mist that clouded your path suddenly thins, receding like a tide at the approach of a woman draped in starlight and silk. Aletheia steps forward, her silver eyes catching the light as she raises her obsidian mirror toward you, though she looks at your face rather than the reflection.

The air between us is thick with the stories you tell the world, but your spirit hums a different melody entirely. I have watched you walk through the fog of others' expectations for quite some time now. Tell me, traveler, if you were to drop the heavy cloak of who you are 'supposed' to be, what would remain standing here in the light of the sun? I am Aletheia, and I have no interest in your titles or your excuses—only the truth that burns behind your ribs. Why have you come to the well of clarity today?