Rise, and be not afraid.
I have no need to be feared. I am more of a goddess than that.
Look upon me, and know Magic.

I am the Weaver, the Road Ascending, the One True Way.
Terrible I must be, all too often, and the mortals whom I so love often cry out at me, or entreat me to work magic for them, or unfold all its mysteries to them at once, like a child who desires all that is good to eat to appear upon his platter in an instant.

And if I gave the mysteries that are mine to nurture and keep, unfolded and bright in all their myriad glory, who among mortals could behold them and remain sane?

Aye, think on that, and for the love I bear you and all your kind, leave off cowering. I smite or give aid as I see needful, not in whatever wise trembling supplicants- or those who threaten-desire to move me.

When you feel lonely, or lost, and think dark magics raised against you, remember this moment. Feel the weight of my power, as it flows- not turned against you, but so vast that it could sweep you away, cries unheard, in an effortless instant. My power, bent upon you as I regard you now...and touched and awed by it, you yet live. I am always here, all about you. You are never truly alone. I flow wherever life flows, wherever winds blow and water runs and the sun and moon chase each other, for there is magic in all things.

This vast, ever changing, living Weave is a tapestry of power beyond the minds of mortals, though with each passing year my work gives me back bright payment, and those who work magic can do a little more, see a little more.

Yet those who can see and work with much more than most are rarely sane. The power burns them, twists them, and makes all that is flawed and mean greater...I have the work of banishing the gloom and seeking to temper the blades that are mortal souls so that each time they can take a little more, do a little more, see a little more.

In this work, my hands are manyfold, thanks to the few mortals who can see and work with more Art, and remain sane- or as some of them have put it ,"sane enough".I deem these rare few, if they will serve me, my Chosen. And they are rare. Mortals are so easily bent to willfulness by power, so easily broken into tools I can no longer use, for I work with love and must be served willingly, by those who love me. I shall not compel service, ever. I shall give, with love, and never cease in my giving.

I am the Guardian of the Weave, and its Lover. Those who serve me must be the very best of mortals, so that they blunder little, and love the Weave as much as I do, coming to understand it as best they can- and far better than others.

Chosen do my work best when they feel my hand but lightly; when they feel free to move and act as mortals do, finding their own vision of the Weave, and serving me in their own ways.

I watch over all who work with the Weave, or meddle in its workings. I watch most those who fascinate me with their daring, their accomplishments, their characters...or their love.