Wyrmfern is a shimmer beneath the leaves, a flick of tongue, tooth, and green smirking temptation.
A square-cut peridot gleams from the center of a four-petal shadowbox, its sharp green hue catching the light like something newly hatched. The bezel and cutout echo each other in mirrored flourish, the whole piece small but steady in its gaze. A bead-accented chain completes the spell, like a sliver of forest light caught mid-breath.
Not all the Grove’s fruit is meant for the picking, some bite back.
