Moonweaver's Lament

In the wind-stirred uplands where silvered grasses bow beneath the night sky, there dwells a solitary figure known as the Moonweaver. Unlike the Mosswright, who communes with roots and rain, the Moonweaver is a keeper of illusions and midnight clarity—a silent architect of dreams spun from dew and starlight.

Clad in robes woven from mist and moonbeam, the Moonweaver drifts through the meadow’s hush, gathering moonflowers and lilac blooms by the light of a waxing crescent. Each evening, as the first stars shimmer awake, they trace sigils in the air with slender fingers, weaving cool breezes and the scent of lemon into the fabric of the night. Their prayers are not uttered, but sung in soft, wordless melodies that ripple through the grass and echo in the crystalline hush.

"Moonweaver’s Lament" is the essence of these nocturnal rites—a fragrance that captures the elusive shimmer of the Silver Mirage. It opens with the brisk clarity of crisp air, lemon zest, and moonflower, like the first breath atop a windswept hill beneath the full moon. The heart unfolds in a gentle cascade of lavender, lilac, and stargazer lily, a bouquet as ephemeral as a dream half-remembered at dawn. At the base, the scent settles into creamy coconut milk, warm amber, and crystalline musk, leaving a luminous, otherworldly trail—like moonlight lingering on skin, or the memory of a wish whispered to the night.

Where the Mosswright seeks solace in earth and shadow, the Moonweaver dances in the liminal spaces between dusk and dawn, their presence a fleeting promise of serenity, clarity, and the quiet magic that shimmers just beyond the edge of waking.

Bidden by lunar rites and spun from twilight threads, the Moonweaver’s secrets lie among the Hollow’s holdings; easily found among the curiosities here.