The Water Dragon - sherpa fleece blanket

The Water Dragon has gathered the wishes that fall like petals into her lake.

People come in the dark. Alone. Afraid to be heard.

They whisper to the wisteria—make me brave, make me strong, make me enough—and Satomi listens from the depths as their voices crack on that last word.

Enough.

As if they aren't already.

The woman who begs for courage? She walked through fire to get here. She survived what should have destroyed her. She's still standing when everything told her to break.

And she calls herself weak.

The one who prays for strength? She's been carrying weight that would crush most people—grief, shame, expectations that were never hers to bear. She's held herself together with sheer will.

And she thinks she's fragile.

The man who whispers make me worthy? He's given everything. Poured himself out for people who never saw him. Dimmed his light so others wouldn't feel small.

And he believes he's not enough.

It makes Satomi seethe with rage.

Not at them. Never at them.

At the world that convinced them their power was weakness. That taught them to apologize for taking up space. That made them believe they needed permission to be who they've always been.

Satomi doesn't grant wishes.

She tears down lies.

You are already brave. You've been strong this whole time. You were always enough.

The magic people search for isn't in Satomi's lake.

It's in their scars. In their survival. In the fact that they're still here, still fighting, still daring to hope when hope should be dead.

They don't need Satomi's power.

They need to claim what's already theirs.