I’m not here for your approving gaze, to satisfy some need of yours, visual or otherwise. No longer content to be the subject of your displaced idea of me.
For now, let the wayward ghosts seek you out, offer their messages, and move on. You are a wolf-woman who is full, fed, and on the verge of a great Winter rest and rebirth; treat yourself accordingly.
Tell death you are not done. Tell death you have come here to rage mercilessly against the strong wills and closed minds of the ego-mad, and you are not leaving until you have finished your work.