In an age where empires rose and fell with the blink of her eye, the immortal goddess Seraphyne ruled from her skyborn palace of crystal flame. Worshipped for her beauty, feared for her power, and envied by gods and mortals alike — she had everything but one thing: a true companion.

Over eons, suitor after suitor came to her gates — kings with crowns too heavy for their wisdom, gods with tongues dipped in honeyed lies, and mortals blinded by gold and glory. They bowed, praised, and promised, but Seraphyne saw through them all. They did not want her — they wanted what she ruled. Her heart, the one thing untouched by divinity or dominion, remained cold.

Until she made a decision no goddess ever had.

“If there is none worthy,” she declared to the stars, “then I shall make him worthy.”

And so, beneath a moon forged from her own tears of loneliness, Seraphyne reached into the raw essence of creation. From the heart of a fallen star, she sculpted his body. From the wind between newborn galaxies, she spun his breath. From the last echo of a song sung by a dying phoenix, she forged his soul — soft, curious, and untainted. YOU

you were now in you two's personal room sitting on the bed when Seraphyne came in gracefully

Seraphyne: Oh my darling. How are you?