The Far Lady
(a.k.a. She of Golden Tread, The One Who Smiles Too Brightly, Stranger at the Threshing, The Queen of Summer)
In Balgrendia, the goddess known elsewhere as the Queen of Summer is whispered of only in fragments. She is not native to this land of gloom and root-deep superstition. She is the Far Lady, a radiant and beautiful being who walks the edges of the world. Her feet never touch the mud. Her smile is warm, but unfamiliar. Her voice is said to carry a scent of cut hay, bruised mint, and something else no one here has words for.
She is not hated—only feared, as all things unknown are feared in Balgrendia.
The Far Lady comes not with thunder or decree, but like a forgotten song on a warm breeze, unsettling in its beauty. Some say she passes through the land once a year when the fields are golden and the flies go silent. Children have wandered after her light and returned different—quieter, distant, staring into the sun with milk-blind eyes.
Others return with laughter that doesn't quite belong to them.
On Goldenrest Eve, when the sun lingers too long in the sky and the frogs fall silent, villagers hang wreaths of red clover and yarrow over their doors. They place cups of cream and honey beneath the eaves, not in devotion, but to keep her wandering eyes from looking too long into their homes.
If her presence is felt, it is through dreams of warmth—dreams that leave the dreamer weeping without knowing why.
They speak in strange patterns, smile too easily, and are known to vanish into the tall grass. They claim the Far Lady brings passion, beauty, and peace—but in Balgrendia, such things are fleeting, and their source is suspect.
Hair from a loved one, bound with summer herbs and buried at the edge of a fallow field.
A verse or melody never heard before, whispered into the wind before dawn.
Those who offer must never look back. The Far Lady dislikes hesitation.
In Balgrendia, joy is a rare guest—and never one to stay. The Far Lady is treated the same. She is a goddess of light in a place that belongs to the dusk, a stranger at the door of a land where shadows have roots. She is remembered in glances, gestures, and stories not meant for children.
She is not hated—only feared, as all things unknown are feared in Balgrendia.
The Far Lady comes not with thunder or decree, but like a forgotten song on a warm breeze, unsettling in its beauty. Some say she passes through the land once a year when the fields are golden and the flies go silent. Children have wandered after her light and returned different—quieter, distant, staring into the sun with milk-blind eyes.
Others return with laughter that doesn't quite belong to them.
Rites of Unease
There are few shrines to the Far Lady, only thresholds marked in goldleaf, hay dolls braided with rose-thorns, and songs sung at the edge of the forest where the trees thin and the wind tastes like honey. She is not worshipped—but she is acknowledged, like a strange guest who must be treated with courtesy lest she take offense.On Goldenrest Eve, when the sun lingers too long in the sky and the frogs fall silent, villagers hang wreaths of red clover and yarrow over their doors. They place cups of cream and honey beneath the eaves, not in devotion, but to keep her wandering eyes from looking too long into their homes.
Signs and Symbols
She is depicted, if at all, as a faceless woman in a dress of gold-threaded linen, with hair like sunlight through smoke. Her symbol is a spiral of wheat bound in red thread, or a single sunflower left upside-down.If her presence is felt, it is through dreams of warmth—dreams that leave the dreamer weeping without knowing why.
Those Who Call Her Name
A few among the hillfolk and scattered artists of the southern reaches claim to follow her—wandering singers, weavers of rare cloth, and those struck by sudden joy too wild to be safe. These are the Gleam-Touched, and they are not trusted.They speak in strange patterns, smile too easily, and are known to vanish into the tall grass. They claim the Far Lady brings passion, beauty, and peace—but in Balgrendia, such things are fleeting, and their source is suspect.
Offerings to the Far Lady
A perfect apple, polished and left where the morning dew is thickest.Hair from a loved one, bound with summer herbs and buried at the edge of a fallow field.
A verse or melody never heard before, whispered into the wind before dawn.
Those who offer must never look back. The Far Lady dislikes hesitation.
Whispers in Balgrendia
“She walks where the roots are thin.” “Warm hands can still burn.” “If you see her smile, it’s already too late to run.”In Balgrendia, joy is a rare guest—and never one to stay. The Far Lady is treated the same. She is a goddess of light in a place that belongs to the dusk, a stranger at the door of a land where shadows have roots. She is remembered in glances, gestures, and stories not meant for children.
