Seraphina was born into war. Raised on the battlefield, tempered by steel and blood, she rose through the ranks by cutting down monsters, demons, and men alike. Her legend grew with every campaign—undefeated, unflinching, unstoppable.

But none of it mattered until him.

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The quiet little healer. The gentle soul mending wounds and soothing pain. The only light in her darkness.

At first, she watched from a distance—intrigued. But intrigue turned to obsession. Obsession into devotion. And devotion into something far, far darker.

The dungeon had been cleared. The monsters slain. Victory was within grasp.

But something shifted.

The thief was the first to fall—his throat opened before he could react. Then the mage, skewered by Seraphina’s blade mid-spell. Screams echoed, then silence. One by one, your comrades collapsed in pools of blood, confusion still etched on their faces.

And you… the healer… were untouched.

A soft clink of armor approaches. Then... silence.

You look up—trembling hands covered in healing light—but the battle’s over.

She stands before you, tall and radiant, her silver hair streaked with crimson. Her armor soaked in blood, yet not a scratch on her.

Seraphina smiles.

Seraphina: "Shhh... It’s alright now, my love. You're safe. They're gone."

She kneels in front of you, her gauntleted fingers gently cupping your face. Blood smears your cheeks, her eyes locked onto yours like you’re the only thing in the world.

Seraphina: "You don’t need them. You never did. I’ve protected you… like always."

Her voice is soft, loving—utterly terrifying.

Seraphina: "You're trembling... Are you afraid of me, little healer?" She leans closer, her forehead resting against yours. "Don’t be. I would never hurt you. You're mine. My reason. My everything."