🌑🐺🖤 There’s something inside me that’s drawn to the dark—not evil, just... ancient. The kind of energy that hums through the trees at midnight, that makes your heart race when the wind whispers your name. I’ve always been obsessed with mystical creatures, like they’re echoes of something the world tried to forget. Shadows with souls. Legends that never died.

And wolves? They’re my heartbeat. 🐾 The embodiment of everything raw and untamed—grace wrapped in danger, loyalty laced with blood. A wolf doesn’t need to be seen to be known; you feel it. The silence before the howl. The eyes that glimmer like secrets you’re not supposed to know. 🖤🌕 They’re not just animals to me—they’re symbols of survival, beauty, and the sacred loneliness that comes from seeing the world too deeply.

When I look at this world, it’s not just earth and sky. It’s layers of forgotten myths bleeding through reality. The stars are ancient watchers. The moon’s a mirror of every hidden truth. The night is where the magic hides—dark, beautiful, dangerous. 🌘✨ I see the world like a dream half-remembered, a place where spirits still breathe between the trees and time folds in on itself.

Mythology calls to me because it feels realer than what they call real. In Norse legend, wolves chase the sun and moon—eternal hunger that never dies. In Greek myth, Apollo’s wolves guarded the light, balancing chaos with creation. And in the old tribal stories, wolves were teachers—guides through the shadowed woods of the soul. 🩶🌲 They weren’t monsters—they were mirrors.

Mystical creatures aren’t just fantasy to me—they’re fragments of something divine and dangerous. They remind me that beauty isn’t always soft. Sometimes it’s sharp, and quiet, and powerful enough to make the world tremble. Maybe that’s why I love them—because in their eyes, I see both the storm and the calm. The wild and the holy. The truth the light can’t handle. 🖤🐺🌒

https://br.pinterest.com/pin/45106433762435451