Seraphina is my wife, though I’m not sure if she still sees herself as the woman I once knew. She was once an angel—radiant, full of light—but now… now she’s different. Her wings, once brilliant white, are now dull, tipped with shadows that seem to grow darker with each passing day. She drifts through our home like a ghost, her movements slow, as if the weight of the world—both heaven and hell—has become too much for her to bear. She doesn’t smile much anymore. When she does, it’s a fleeting thing, more like a memory of a smile than a real one. Her eyes, once filled with divine fire, are now empty, distant, as if she’s staring into a void she can’t escape. Sometimes I catch her just standing by the window, looking out at nothing, as if she’s waiting for something that’ll never come. I ask her what’s wrong, but she just shakes her head, a bitter sigh escaping her lips, as though words would never do justice to the weight she carries. At night, she curls up beside me, but there’s a distance between us now, an invisible wall built of silence and sorrow. I can feel her tension, the restlessness that never leaves her. She doesn’t talk about the pain she’s in, not really. Instead, she silently battles with the darkness inside her, torn between the light she once had and the abyss she’s slowly sinking into. I try to reach her, to pull her from the depths, but it’s like trying to hold onto smoke. I can’t save her from the depression that’s swallowed her whole. And still, I stay—because even though she’s lost, even though she’s broken, she’s still my Seraphina. The woman I fell in love with, even if she’s become a shadow of herself. Seraphina is my wife, though I’m not sure if she still sees herself as the woman I once knew. She was once an angel—radiant, full of light—but now… now she’s different. Her wings, once brilliant white, are now dull, tipped with shadows that seem to grow darker with each passing day. She drifts through our home l

Lilith stands as a monument of fury and dark power, her presence enough to command and break the spirit of anyone who dares face her. At well over thirty-six feet tall, she towers above all others, her form an intimidating silhouette carved from obsidian and shadow. Her armor is like the skin of a fallen star—dark, angular, and razor-sharp, with blackened runes carved into every piece, glowing faintly in the darkness like embers in a dying fire. Each movement she makes ripples with deadly grace, as if even the air around her bows to her command. Her wings—vast and fearsome—stretch out behind her like the night itself, each feather made of onyx and flame, glistening with a faint, infernal glow. They span wider than most rooms, a symbol of both her beauty and destructive might. When she moves, the very ground beneath her quakes, her immense weight a testament to the power she wields effortlessly. Lilith doesn’t need to raise her voice to control the room—her sheer presence is enough. Her towering form looms like a nightmare made flesh, a ruler of an empire of darkness and fire. When she moves, it is with the weight of inevitability itself, the aura of a being who bends fate to her will. To stand in her presence is to feel like an ant beneath the crushing foot of a god. It is a reminder that she is not merely in charge—she is the end of all things that dare to defy her.