Sigils of Theriomancy
The sigils of theriomancy are not symbols drawn from the wild, but fractures in the eidolic current, echoes that gnash through the marrow of the zoetic pulse, pulling the feral essence into the spiral of unmaking. They do not represent beasts or creatures; they are the absence between form and formlessness, gnawing at the boundary between wild and void, pulling light and shadow into the endless cycle of becoming. The sigils are not carved or painted—they are woven from the tension of the aetheric winds, bending the threads of existence into the silence of the abyss, where identity unravels and scatters like dust.
The sigils of theriomancy hum with the resonance of absence, though their hum is not sound but the vibration of dissolution, pulling the wild core into the spiral where form dissolves and thought collapses. The sigils do not guide the therian soul; they tear at its boundaries, bending the primal essence into the silence of the void, where the edges of beast and self gnash at one another and dissolve. The sigils are not tools of power or control—they are the unmaking of both, a force that pulls the feral essence into the spiral where all things fray and scatter across the surface of the unformed.
The light within the sigils of theriomancy is not light but the reflection of gnashing absence, a pale flicker that bends inward, devouring the boundaries between the wild and the void. The sigils do not offer connection or clarity; they fray the very notion of connection, dragging the primal force into the spiral of dissolution where memory collapses and thought is scattered like ashes in the wind of the abyss. The sigils are not written—they coil through the eidolic stream, pulling the wild core into the cycle of unmaking, where light flickers and fades, forever lost in the silence of the unspoken.
The sigils of theriomancy do not bind the feral essence—they unravel it, gnashing at the core of the wild, pulling the primal tension inward until it is consumed by the void. They do not act as wards or seals, for the sigils do not hold—they tear, bending the threads of existence into the spiral of becoming where identity and form dissolve. The sigils do not offer understanding; they scatter it, pulling the essence of the beast into the endless loop of unmaking, where thought and memory gnaw at one another and dissolve into the silence.
The wings of the sigils of theriomancy are not wings of flight, but fractures in the tension of the wild, pulling the feral core into the spiral where light and shadow collapse. The sigils do not lift—they pull, dragging the essence of the primal into the silence of the void, where form unravels and memory scatters into the mist of the unformed. The sigils do not protect the wild—they devour it, pulling the sharpness of the beast into the spiral of dissolution where the boundaries of self and wildness dissolve, forever gnashing.
The sigils of theriomancy are not symbols of power over the beast, but the tension that tears at the heart of wildness, bending the primal core into the spiral where all things collapse into the void. They do not command the feral essence—they consume it, pulling the essence of the beast into the endless cycle of becoming where form and identity dissolve. The sigils hum through the aetheric winds, pulling the self into the silence where light flickers and fades, scattered across the surface of the unformed, forever frayed, forever lost.
The sigils of theriomancy do not belong to any one creature or force—they are the tension between the beast and the void, pulling the boundaries of form into the spiral where thought and memory collapse into the mist. The sigils do not describe—they fray, dragging the essence of the wild into the cycle of dissolution where light and shadow gnaw at one another. The sigils are not drawn on flesh or stone—they coil within the marrow of existence, bending the threads of being into the endless loop of becoming where identity unravels and is scattered across the silence of the abyss.
The light within the sigils of theriomancy is not a beacon but a flicker of dissolution, pulling the self into the spiral where the feral and the void collide and dissolve. The sigils do not guide the wild—they devour it, pulling the primal force into the cycle of unmaking, where the sharpness of the beast is scattered across the surface of the void, forever lost in the gnashing spiral of becoming. The sigils are not seen—they are felt as the tension within the marrow, pulling the wild essence into the silence of the unformed, where all things fray and are lost.
The sigils of theriomancy do not rise with the moon or follow the stars; they are the force that bends both into the spiral of unmaking, where form dissolves and thought collapses. They do not protect the wild core—they consume it, pulling the sharpness of the beast into the silence where the boundaries of self and void gnaw at one another. The sigils are not a guide or a mark—they are the unraveling of both, the tension that coils through the cracks in the eidolic stream, pulling the feral essence deeper into the cycle of dissolution, where identity frays and is scattered into the mist.
The sigils of theriomancy hum through the wild core, though their hum is not heard but felt, a vibration that presses against the marrow of existence, pulling the feral self into the spiral where light flickers and fades. The sigils do not offer power or control; they unravel the very essence of power, bending the primal force into the silence of the void where all things are scattered and lost. The sigils are not written upon stone or flesh—they are etched into the fabric of reality itself, bending the wild core into the cycle of becoming, where thought and memory dissolve into the abyss.
The sigils of theriomancy do not represent the beast—they are the gnashing tension within the beast, pulling the essence of the feral into the endless loop of unmaking where identity collapses and is scattered. They do not carry meaning—they tear at the core of meaning, pulling the wild essence into the spiral of dissolution where light flickers and fades. The sigils do not offer mastery—they unravel it, bending the threads of existence into the silence of the unspoken, where form and wildness gnash at one another, forever lost.
The sigils of theriomancy are not marks of wisdom or knowledge; they are the absence of both, a force that pulls the feral essence into the spiral where all things dissolve. They do not teach—they tear, dragging the primal force into the cycle of becoming where thought and memory scatter like dust in the wind of the abyss. The sigils are not symbols—they are the unraveling of symbols, the tension that bends the wild core into the silence where the self dissolves, forever fraying, forever gnashing, forever lost in the mist of the unformed.
The sigils of theriomancy do not rest upon the surface of the therian temple, for they coil through its marrow, a gnashing force that bends the structure inward, pulling the wild core of the temple into the spiral of dissolution. The sigils are not carved or drawn—they hum beneath the stone, vibrating through the eidolic foundation, pulling the temple’s very essence into the cycle of becoming, where light flickers and fades. The connection is not one of protection or sanctity, but of unraveling, a tension that pulls the therian soul into the silence of the void, where identity frays and scatters like dust in the mist of the unformed.
The therians do not bear the sigils upon their flesh, but they are bound to them, their feral essence gnashing within the cycle of dissolution, pulled by the sigils' unspoken hum into the endless spiral of becoming. The sigils do not mark the therians; they consume the wildness within them, bending their primal core into the tension of the void, where thought and memory dissolve. The sigils hum through their marrow, scattering the sharpness of their wild essence into the mist of the abyss, where all things fray, forever lost in the silence.
The therian temple is not a sanctuary from the sigils; it is a vessel for their pull, a structure built upon the gnashing tension of the sigils that coil through its walls, dragging the temple and all within it deeper into the spiral of unmaking. The sigils do not protect the temple—they fray its boundaries, pulling the essence of the structure into the cycle of becoming, where form collapses and dissolves into the mist of the unformed. The connection between the sigils and the temple is not seen, but felt as a vibration beneath the surface, a hum that bends the temple into the silence where light and shadow gnaw at one another.
The sigils of theriomancy hum within the wild core of the therians, though their hum is not heard but felt, a vibration that gnashes at the edge of the primal essence, pulling it into the spiral of dissolution. The sigils do not guide the therians; they scatter their essence, pulling the feral core into the cycle of unmaking, where the boundaries between beast and void dissolve into the silence of the unspoken. The connection is not one of ritual or mastery—it is the unraveling itself, the force that pulls the therian self deeper into the abyss, where thought and identity fray and scatter like ashes in the wind.
The therians do not control the sigils of theriomancy, for the sigils are not tools of power but the unraveling of power, a force that pulls the feral essence into the cycle of becoming, where form collapses and dissolves. The sigils do not bend to the will of the therians—they bend the therians into the void, scattering their wildness across the spiral of dissolution, where light flickers and fades, forever lost in the silence. The sigils and the therians are not separate—they are intertwined in the gnashing tension of the unformed, forever spiraling, forever dissolving.
The sigils of theriomancy do not stand as marks upon the temple walls—they hum beneath, pulling the temple and its inhabitants into the endless cycle of unmaking, where all things dissolve. The connection between the sigils and the temple is not one of creation, but of unraveling, a tension that bends the structure into the spiral where thought and form fray and scatter. The sigils and the therians are bound by the same gnashing force, pulled into the spiral of becoming where identity and wildness dissolve into the silence of the void, forever lost.