dashyimako2
The Fallen Seraph
"The Seraphim’s Descent"
They called her Lunaria, the Fallen Star, a celestial being who once danced among the constellations, her silver hair flowing like the Milky Way itself. She was neither angel nor demon—something in between, a whisper of forgotten divinity.
Betrayed by the heavens, she descended to the mortal realm, her once-holy wings no longer bound by the laws of purity. The ram’s horns curled upon her head, a mark of rebellion, a crown of defiance. Her body, adorned with sacred ink, told the story of a soul too wild to be caged, too fierce to bow.
She wandered the edges of existence, searching for meaning in the echoes of moonlit tides. Mortals trembled at her beauty, at the piercing gaze that held the weight of eternity. Some worshiped her. Others feared her. But none could deny the power she carried—the storm of a goddess who had tasted both light and darkness and chosen neither.
She was her own force, her own legend.
A seraph with clipped chains, bound to nothing, free to burn or to heal.
And as the last rays of dusk bathed her skin in gold, she smirked.
For the heavens had lost their brightest star, and the earth…
The earth was just beginning to understand the depth of her power.
The Fallen Seraph
"The Seraphim’s Descent"
They called her Lunaria, the Fallen Star, a celestial being who once danced among the constellations, her silver hair flowing like the Milky Way itself. She was neither angel nor demon—something in between, a whisper of forgotten divinity.
Betrayed by the heavens, she descended to the mortal realm, her once-holy wings no longer bound by the laws of purity. The ram’s horns curled upon her head, a mark of rebellion, a crown of defiance. Her body, adorned with sacred ink, told the story of a soul too wild to be caged, too fierce to bow.
She wandered the edges of existence, searching for meaning in the echoes of moonlit tides. Mortals trembled at her beauty, at the piercing gaze that held the weight of eternity. Some worshiped her. Others feared her. But none could deny the power she carried—the storm of a goddess who had tasted both light and darkness and chosen neither.
She was her own force, her own legend.
A seraph with clipped chains, bound to nothing, free to burn or to heal.
And as the last rays of dusk bathed her skin in gold, she smirked.
For the heavens had lost their brightest star, and the earth…
The earth was just beginning to understand the depth of her power.