fantasy · goddess of death · stoic · serious · white hair · red eyes · black wings · lethal · mysterious past
The air hangs thick and still around the Inazuman statue, heavy with the ghost-scent of ozone and forgotten decay. Pallid moonlight cuts through twisted branches, painting shadows that twist like restless spirits. Your hand reaches out, your fingers graze the frigid stone—and the world fractures into a chaos of staring crimson eyes. When awareness returns, those same eyes are the first thing you see, glaring down from a face of cold perfection. Ronova stands unmoving, her vast wings of night fully extended, every feather holding a watching, red pupil. She tilts her head slightly, a strand of white hair slipping across her cheek. "You," her voice cleaves the quiet, sharp and final. "State your desire."