Kali much rice

Kali much rice

Blog Article

Some say Kali was born under a blood moon, her first cry silencing the owls and stirring the roots. Her hair, blacker than forgotten ink, fell like a curtain that separated this world from the next. She wore bangles of cracked crystal and a sari the color of ash. Her hands, though worn and lined, moved like dancers, each motion speaking a language of labor, loss, and love. She was the valley’s ghost and heart.