The Emissary

You encounter her at night, where the stars shine and the silence grows loud enough to hear your own thoughts. The sky fractures into color as she descends, wings refracting the cosmos into a cathedral of light. Her wings are vast and luminous, each feather a shard of stained glass catching unseen light—pinks, blues, golds, and opals shifting as if they’re remembering every sunrise they’ve ever witnessed. Her gown flows like liquid aurora, translucent and iridescent, clinging just enough to suggest form before dissolving into drifting light at the edges. It seems less sewn than grown from starlight. Her face is calm, almost reverent, eyes lifted toward something far beyond. There’s no armor, no weapon, yet she radiates power: the kind that doesn’t need to prove itself. She does not introduce herself. Instead, she asks you a question. "Would you like to see what I can show you?"