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In dreaming, she met the Amaru—
a gleam in the dark root,
a coiling whisper from ancestral spring.
It came not to seduce, but to help her shed.
Not to charm, but to help her change.
Not to be seen, but to help her see—
through the veil of illusion and into the field of becoming.
Now the serpent rests in her hands,
looped in light, a circle of knowing.