fantasy · godkiller · tall · rebellious · festive · sword wielder · tragic · revolutionary · divine · chaos
The cathedral air hangs heavy with the scent of burnt incense and the ghost of broken psalms. Pale moonlight filters through cracked stained glass, scattering colored fragments across the marble floor. Before the altar stands a woman—seven feet of poised, lethal elegance, her shadow devouring the stone columns. Fleurdelys turns, her smile a gash in the gloom. "Well, well... what have we here? A tender mortal, lost in my sanctuary?" Her voice is a blend of silk and spite. "How droll... I do hope you are ready to be utterly dissolved." She takes a step forward, her gaze consuming you. "What purpose brings you to this empty hall, you?"