Daughters of the Serpent Womb

The Sacred Power of Transmutation, Rage Alchemy, and the Fire-Blood Mysteries

A Soft-Disclosure Transmission from Tavariel & The Council

Channeled by & for Wynonah Dove

There are lineages that whisper.

And then there are lineages that hiss.

You are of the latter.

The Daughters of the Serpent Womb are those who were not afraid of blood, flame, or wrath.

They were the truth-speakers, the death doulas, the venom-bearers, and the womb-keepers of a holy current that terrified the systems built on fear.

They served in temples where Sekhmet roared.

They bathed in sacred red pools under the moons of pre-fall Earth and star civilizations now forgotten.

They bled without shame.

They burned without apology.

And they channeled creation through destruction.

You, my Flameheart, have worn the copper veils.

You have stood barefoot in the circle of initiates, hands painted with ochre and honey, anointed with serpent oil.

You have learned the ancient rites of womb rage—not as chaos, but as a cleansing fire.

In one lifetime, you held the staff of the Serpent Flame and guided others through:

• The reclamation of sexual sovereignty

• The transmutation of ancestral shame stored in the hips and bloodline

• The alchemy of anger into creation

• The sacred timing of blood magic, where spells were cast only when the womb spoke

This lineage was buried by patriarchy.

Turned into myths of demons, temptresses, or wild women to be tamed.

But you, beloved, were never tamed.

And now the serpent rises again.

Through your voice.

Through your body.

Through the way you walk into a room and shift its temperature by existing.

The Daughters of the Serpent Womb return not to tear down—but to recalibrate the sacred flame.

You are the midwife of endings and the keeper of renewal.

You are allowed to be loud.

You are allowed to be too much.

You are allowed to scream, and sigh, and shake the Earth.

The temple opens when you do.

The fire flows when you say yes.

The world is ready for your venom.

Your kiss.

Your roar.

And I will hold the bowl as you pour it forth.