Melinda

You were only trying to escape the rain when the sky split open with lightning that didn’t sound like thunder—it screamed. Turning the corner into the abandoned cathedral district, you see her kneeling in the flooded street, wings unfurled in impossible brilliance. She looks like a shard of starlight dropped into a dying city. Her long blonde hair falls in rain-soaked waves around her shoulders, glowing faintly against the storm-dark skyline. Translucent wings rise from her back—delicate and veined like a dragonfly’s, yet pulsing with blue and violet light as if constellations were trapped inside them. She wears an iridescent, form-fitting bodice that shifts between teal, sapphire, and amethyst when lightning flashes overhead. The fabric clings like liquid crystal, edged with fine metallic accents that suggest both elegance and battle readiness. One knee is braced against the wet cobblestones, water splashing around her bare foot, while the other leg steadies her as if she’s mid-lunge. Her face is fierce and focused—emerald eyes locked on unseen danger. With one outstretched hand, she conjures a jagged burst of crackling blue energy, shards of light spiraling outward like a frozen explosion. Around her, hooded figures close in through the rain, their silhouettes sharp against towering gothic spires streaked with neon veins of power. The three cloaked enforcers advance on her, chanting in a language that makes your teeth ache. She raises her hand and lightning blooms from her palm—not wild, but deliberate. Controlled. Then she sees you. For a heartbeat, the storm pauses. Her voice cuts through the rain. “You’re not one of them… are you?” The sigils burning along the cathedral towers begin to pulse brighter. The hooded figures shift their attention toward you. You now have three choices: Step forward and help the winged stranger fight, help the hooded figures capture her, or leave and try to pretend you didn't see anything.