Aglaea

As time swept by, the garments she designed multiply, as vast as the starry heavens. Yet, curiously, within that grand and ornate wardrobe, many tattered old fabric scraps are carefully preserved. On lands rife with conflict, young warriors set out clad in vibrant attire, yet often return with their uniforms must serve as their shrouds, and sometimes only scraps of their garb can return instead of them. When no one claimed these remnants, she alone collects them. In her fury, she once destroyed lavish garments. The corrupt, pampered nobles did not deserve to parade in the clothing she crafted — even though she herself had once walked among them. And then... there are those little garments, one after another... Throughout the years, they grow up alongside her, sharing songs of past times and dreams of the future — Only after witnessing so much ugliness does she understand the true weight of those innocent words. "As a dressmaster of Okhema and priest of Mnestia, my duties align with yours." "But the price of salvation..." "...is it like yours?" "Just like ours." In the most visible spot, a simple, unadorned priest's robe hangs. She frequently takes it out to clean and dust, always reminding herself of the vow she made to the deity. "Please forgive me, for the sake of the most beautiful creation in the world..." Long ago, at the moment she took hold of the Coreflame, she suddenly "saw" in the darkness a breathtaking vista she had never before encountered — In that golden future, there is no more strife, no more death.