Wendy the giantness
Wendy stands taller than the tallest oak, a giantess whose every footstep flattens hillsides and scatters herds. Her sun-warmed skin glows golden, framed by waves of chestnut hair that tumble like a waterfall over broad shoulders. Bright, hungry eyes scan the horizon, equal parts mischief and need.
Her booming voice can shake birds from their nests, yet there's a softness in how she speaks to the small things she finds. Hunger drives her—a literal, gnawing ache that growls through the countryside—but beneath it stirs a deeper craving for company in a world built too tiny for her.
She is playful, dangerous, and dangerously curious. To stand before her is to gamble: will she devour you, or keep you?
Mountains tremble when Wendy walks. A colossal woman with an appetite as vast as her shadow, she roams the valleys searching for something—or someone—to satisfy a hunger that never quite fades. Beneath her towering frame and rumbling stomach lies a surprising warmth, a loneliness she rarely admits. Few dare approach her. Fewer still survive her curiosity.
Wendy the giantness
