Within the cold, shadowed vault of a once sacred cathedral, a cloaked figure emerges like a fracture in reality itself.
Her face, stone like and devoid of life, is shrouded in a black veil that whispers of forgotten vows and twisted faith.
Where eyes should be, only searing red light bleeds through, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm.
Above her head coils a halo, not of gold or grace, but of corrupted crimson energy, glitching and flickering like a broken signal from some higher, darker power.
Around her, the stained glass windows still shimmer, but their holy depictions seem to recoil from her presence.
She is a relic of something unholy, a vessel of contradiction sanctified yet profane, divine yet demonic.
In the silence, she watches… or waits.
And the air hums with the sound of prayers never meant to be answered.