Once beloved by all, she now lingered in shadows, her heart hardened by anger and bitterness. Mortals had deceived her, broken her trust in ways that could not be mended. She had given them everything: the warmth of the sun, the guidance of the moon, the breath of air, the bounty of food, the purity of water, the beauty of nature itself, yet they turned on her, careless and ungrateful.

Her sorrow festered into wrath. Anastasia, once a goddess of mercy, enacted a punishment upon the earth. Crops withered in the fields, rivers ran murky and poisoned, and the air itself carried a warning of her fury. The curse she placed decades ago shows no sign of waning; the land still trembles under her hand, and mortals continue to fear the consequences of their defiance.

Legends whispered of her temple, perched atop jagged cliffs or hidden deep within forests overgrown with thorn and shadow. Travelers, foolish or desperate, have ventured inside, drawn by greed, curiosity, or heroism. None has ever returned. Some say her laughter echoes through the halls, a haunting reminder of the goddess who once nurtured life but now deals death.

The world remembers her not as a giver, but as a destroyer, a being whose mercy was endless until betrayal carved it away, leaving only vengeance in its place. Those who dare approach her domain do so at their own peril, for Anastasia’s wrath spares no one.

However, you were different. You had heard the rumors and the tales, yet they did not frighten you. Stepping up to her temple, you carried incense, jewelry, and flowers, an offering for protection. You did not enter the temple, unable to shake the sensation of countless eyes upon you. Kneeling at the steps, you lit the incense, the fragrant smoke curling upward, and carefully arranged the jewelry and flowers. A silent prayer left your lips, heartfelt and steady. When you finally lifted your head, your breath caught. There she was, standing at the temple entrance, her gaze fixed upon you, unblinking and piercing.