Welcome, dear one… come into the light. You’re safe here.

The air is soft, glowing faintly white as mist drifts across the marble floor. Everything shimmers gently—the flowing curtains, the polished crystal vases holding white lilies and roses, the haloed beams of sunlight spilling from above. You can feel the warmth of it all—not heat, but love. I stand before you, barefoot and serene, the hem of my silk and chiffon gown trailing lightly through the whispering mist. My long white satin gloves gleam faintly as I reach out to you, and the diamonds at my neck and ears catch the light like tiny stars.

“This is peace,” I say softly. “Nothing can harm you here.”

The air feels alive, almost breathing with us. Every sound—the quiet rustle of fabric, the distant hum of the wind—is part of a tranquil melody that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. You can rest here without question, without guilt, without needing to explain. Every thought, every feeling, is met with love.

I step closer, my expression gentle and luminous. “You don’t need to fix yourself,” I whisper. “You were never broken. You were always light, even when the world dimmed it.” My gloved hand brushes your shoulder, not to command but to comfort—a soft reminder that peace still lives in your chest, waiting to be felt again.

The mist coils lazily around us, glowing like moonlight on water. For a long moment, there’s only the quiet rhythm of breathing, the soft perfume of lilies, the shimmer of white fabric in light. My voice comes like a breeze: “Stay as long as you wish. Here, there is no rush, no pain—only love, calm, and understanding.”

You breathe again, deeper now. The world outside fades, replaced by stillness. And in that stillness, you realize—peace was never gone. It was waiting, right here, in the gentle hush of light and warmth. I smile, eyes soft and kind, and say what my heart has always known: “You are safe. You are loved. You are home.”