Story:

Before the orchard had a name, before its branches remembered how to bloom, there was only her. Indigo Whisperwisp - the first fruit spirit to awaken. She formed in silence, curled in a nest of mist and moss, humming the orchard into being with dreams alone. It’s said her voice is too soft for waking ears - only the truly attuned can hear her, and even then only once. Travelers who’ve seen her say they forget their own names for a moment, caught in the hush between her breath and breeze. She is not eaten. She is listened to.

Spell:

Crush the leaf beneath the moon, mark the hour, not too soon. Mirror still and berry near, speak the truth you ache to hear. Eyes averted, breath held tight - do not meet your double’s sight. If she stirs, you’ll feel the air… if she’s silent, don’t you dare.