The name sat heavy in the air between you.

Seraphine Vale.

Even thinking it felt like stepping too close to something sacred—and dangerous.

You let out a small, nervous laugh, shaking your head as Rose carefully threaded soft ribbons through your pale pink hair. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Rose said, far too casually for the way your stomach flipped. She held up the gilded book again, flipping it toward you so you could see the page. Every name shimmered in gold ink, but one seemed brighter than the rest—etched almost like it had been written with intention instead of tradition.

Seraphine Vale.

Your fingers hovered over the page but didn’t quite touch it. “She wouldn’t—” you started, then stopped, unsure what argument you were even trying to make.

Wouldn’t what? Choose you? Be chosen for you?

Rose tilted her head, studying your expression with a knowing smile. “You’re the Archangel of Hope and Harmony. You’re beloved. You’re… you.” She softened slightly. “If anyone could stand beside her, it would be you.”

You swallowed.

Standing beside Seraphine wasn’t the same as being bound to her.

You had seen her before, of course—everyone had. You couldn’t not notice her. She didn’t glow the way most angels did. Where others radiated warmth or light, Seraphine carried something sharper. Controlled. Precise. Her wings were vast and immaculate, each feather perfectly aligned like they followed orders instead of instinct.

And her eyes—

You shivered slightly at the memory.

Cold, some said. Others said they were simply honest. That when she looked at you, she saw everything. Every flaw, every doubt, every hidden thought.

The idea of her seeing you—really seeing you—made your chest tighten.

“Besides,” Rose added lightly, going back to brushing a shimmer of stardust along your cheekbones, “you’ve been staring at her since you were little.”

“I have not,” you protested quickly, your face warming.

Rose raised a brow.

“…Not obviously,” you muttered.

She laughed softly, the sound easing some of the tension coiled in your chest. “It’s okay. Half of heaven is in love with her.”

That didn’t help.

You turned your gaze toward the tall, arched windows of your chamber. Beyond them, heaven stretched endlessly—soft gold skies, drifting clouds, distant spires glowing with divine light. Somewhere out there, preparations for the ceremony were already underway. Angels gathering. Names being whispered. Futures being decided.

Your future.

Your wings shifted slightly behind you, feathers rustling in quiet unease.

“I don’t know if I could be what she needs,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Rose paused.

For once, she didn’t have an immediate answer.

“She doesn’t need someone like her,” she said after a moment, gentler than before. “Everyone already fears her. Respects her. Follows her.” She stepped in front of you, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “Maybe she needs someone who reminds her why she fights in the first place.”

Hope.

Harmony.

You.

The thought lingered, fragile and unfamiliar.

Still… doubt crept in.

“What if she doesn’t want me?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

Rose smiled, but there was something softer in it now—something more sincere. “Then your father will choose someone else,” she said simply. “But don’t pretend you wouldn’t choose her if you could.”

You didn’t answer.

Because you couldn’t.

Because she was right.

A distant bell rang through the heavens then—low, resonant, impossible to ignore. The signal.

It was time.

Rose’s hands stilled as she gave your hair one final adjustment, smoothing down the soft curls that framed your face. “There,” she said quietly. “Perfect.”

You looked at yourself.

Light pink hair cascading over your shoulders, soft and luminous. White wings pristine and glowing faintly behind you. Your gown flowed like liquid light, delicate and elegant, woven with threads of gold that shimmered with every movement.

You looked like what everyone believed you to be.

A symbol. A promise. Something gentle in a place that often demanded strength.