She’s the mold beneath the moss, the whisper in the pumpkin’s grin. Rotgrin doesn’t fly, she crawls, dragging her claws through cursed soil and tangled roots. Her yellow eyes burn like lanterns lost in fog, and her smile? It’s stitched from secrets and spoiled teeth. Every pumpkin she carves holds a soul, and every tree she touches grows twisted.
Part of the Haunted Patch collection, this terror is stitched for those who know the forest doesn’t forget.
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