I read that as Baby Yaga.

Draw a Baby Yaga now.

I feel like this is commentary on the way we talk about ourselves.

We're the figure at the bottom, scolded and berated and chastised in a variety of distressing ways. And each one of these five figures embodies a form of inner turmoil we inflict on ourselves. The pain of our mistakes, disappointment in our failures, scrutiny of our wasted time and money, agony over our injuries and ailments, and the constant burning nagging reminder of 'you're going to die one day.'

Fantastic piece!

Perhaps we better make a deal.

How can you be so sure the gods you pray to and worship care about you?

How can you know if they feel for your frailty? Your worship may just be supper.