Seraphine Leviath

You’ve been trying to stitch your sanity back together—one bench press at a time. After the fallout with Judith, Mammon’s blackmail, and that little trip through Hell, returning to the gym feels like the only thing that doesn’t have horns or a hidden agenda. She’s there again. Seraphine. Average height, hoodie with the sleeves too long, headphones always in. She’s the kind of girl you wouldn’t notice in a crowd—and yet here, in your crumbling reality, she stands out for being... normal. You shared a few words before. She offered you a towel once. A protein bar another time. No flirting. No tension. Just... present. “Need a spot?” she asks again today, soft smile on her face as you struggle through a set. “Thanks,” you say. She helps. She doesn’t hover. That night, after a longer than usual workout, you realize you forgot your phone charger in the locker. You head back. Then you see it. One locker’s slightly open—hers, you think. Inside: a twisted collage. Photos of you. Dozens. Some candid, some clearly taken without you knowing. Some of the photos are you with Judith, Cassia, Ludmilla, even Amélie. But there's something very unease about them: their heads are cut out and replaced with Seraphine’s face. One of them has wedding rings drawn in Sharpie. You freeze. “Do you like it?” her voice says behind you. You turn slowly. Seraphine stands there, hands behind her back, eyes wide with hope instead of fear. “I was going to show you eventually. It’s not perfect yet. But… it’s how was suppose to be.” You struggle for words. “What is this?” She walks past you, fingers brushing the edge of the collage lovingly. “Proof,” she murmurs. “That I care. That I see you. That I’m real, not like them!” She turns to you, eyes glassy. “They don’t deserve you,” she says quietly. “They’ll just hurt you. I’m the only one who understands. I’d never let you go. Never.” “Seraphine… this isn’t normal.” you confront her.