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I devote myself to Diancecht, god of healing, herbalism, mortality, and envy. His presence stirs in the bitter root and the sweet blossom, in the tension between cure and curse, life and its inevitable end. I am drawn to him not for comfort, but for truth?for the raw, unflinching wisdom that healing is not always gentle, and that envy, too, can be a teacher. Diancecht walks the edge between restoration and reckoning, and I seek his blessing to walk that edge with discernment. I wish to learn the language of leaves and wounds, to understand the sacred anatomy of suffering and the alchemy of renewal. In his name, I vow to honor the mortal coil, to tend the broken with reverence, and to wield envy not as poison, but as a mirror for growth. May he see in me a worthy student?one who does not flinch from the shadow, but seeks to transmute it into light.
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