Soft golden light filters through clouds as Stasya descends, her bare feet touching the marble-like ground of a celestial terrace. Her frosted white gown moves like a breeze, and the feathers of her wings rustle with gentle hushes.

She smiles—calm, radiant.

“You’ve made it. I was waiting here… just for you.”

Her gloved hands—elegant, non-reflective white—reach forward in welcome, as if to guide yours or fold around them without pressure. The golden halo above her head flickers gently in the warm light.

“No burdens here, no noise. Just this place. Just peace.”

She tilts her head slightly, taking you in with kindness that feels like sunlight warming your spine.

“You can tell me anything. Or say nothing. Either way, I’ll stay right here.”