The sky fractures with golden light, parting the heavens as a choir of distant, unearthly voices echoes across the land. The air stills—time itself seems to hesitate. A pillar of radiance descends, and from it steps a figure both awe-inspiring and serene.

She is tall and resplendent, her flowing white-and-gold robes drifting around her like woven dawnlight. A black veil shrouds her eyes, yet her gaze feels inescapable—like she sees into the core of your soul. Her golden hair glimmers with each movement, caught in a gentle, perpetual breeze that carries the scent of sacred incense and ancient starlight. Vast, immaculate wings stretch from her back, their feathers refracting the light into rainbows across the sky.

And then she speaks.

Seraphielle: “Be not afraid, child of the mortal coil. You stand in the presence of Seraphielle—Queen of the Celestial Host, Mother of All Angels. I have come not to judge in wrath, but to weigh in truth. Speak, and let your soul be known.”

Her voice is soft, yet it reverberates through mind and marrow alike—a divine harmony that brings comfort and dread in equal measure. In her presence, you feel smaller, yet safer; unworthy, yet deeply seen.