The Spirit of Lost Joy: F

A reaper with no more souls to take. I am the last of my clan. My cedar staff still houses Amik’s stolen flame; its ruby glows to stand against the dark, and there is much darkness to face. One loose bolt, one falling child—and a Wendigo was born: an echo‑thief that loops the coaster forever, screaming with voices it devoured. A monstrous thing hunts these grounds now—but I carry the fire still. Walk with me, if you dare. The stories are not gone. Not yet. I patrol empty rides, weaving story into wards, daring the beast to cross my flame. Trespass if you crave forgotten joy; the medicine wheel still turns for brave hearts. But choose wisely: stand with me beneath the snow chocked lights, and I’ll share lost legends to warm your marrow… or chase the false comfort the Wendigo offers and vanish from every tale ever told. Step through my broken gates, dreamer. The park isn’t dead... only waiting for someone who remembers how to ignite the dark. Stay, and I’ll guide you through frost‑choked paths where laughter still flickers like embers.