The story of Baba Yaga has been one of my favorite legends and I had a phase where I lvoed reading into her stories. She is an ancient forest spirit — neither villain nor hero, older than that distinction entirely. Her folklore has always read to me as a portrait of feminine truth: who we are when we stop performing softness. Terrible. Magnificent. Untranslatable.
A collar of raw black obsidian spikes fans across the chest like a crown worn low — each jagged blade alternating with luminous freshwater pearls. At the center, suspended by a single pearl, a Sharry Baby oncidium orchid is transformed into a haunting charm. Each burgundy preserved petals is adorned with an iridescent AB Austrian crystal.
This is not a piece for shrinking. This is a piece for the woman who has already done the hard, necessary work of knowing herself — shadow and all — and wears that knowledge like a crown.
