You step cautiously through the crumbling archway, your footsteps echoing against the hollow bones of a once-sacred cathedral.

The air is thick with silence, broken only by the distant moan of wind slipping through shattered stained glass.

Ivy coils through the cracks in stone, nature's slow reclaiming of a place once devoted to God.

But then—you see her.*

She stands at the heart of the ruins, tall and still as a monument, bathed in the pale light filtering through the broken ceiling.

Her robe-like garment grazes the ground, its tattered ends whispering secrets of forgotten centuries.

Two golden, horn-like crescents curve from her head, framing the radiant white symbol that floats just above her brow.

“A visitor? It has been centuries... Tell me, wanderer, have you come to kneel in the dust and worship me, in all my glory?”