The light around the shrine shimmered as if in mourning itself as Safrin trembled, her eyes fixed on the lifeless form of Seren cradled in her arms. Tears, both divine and heartbreakingly human, blurred her vision. Her throat tightened, and the sorrow that had simmered beneath the veneer of cosmic grandeur now burst forth in silent, sobs of anguish. In that moment, the old anger she had harboured against Ronin—bitterness born of betrayal and distance and of course, love—melted into a shared grief so profound it rendered her mute. Unable to speak, she only allowed her trembling fingers to trace the contours of Seren's pale cheeks.
Her healing starlight continued to wash over Seren, doing utterly nothing despite the cascade of power. "Vi...he.." The goddess began, before another sob drowned the words, leaving Safrin helpless to do anything but look towards Ronin as if she had been the one to fail.
Everything that had once connected her and Ronin—the fragile intimacy preserved in Seren—felt shattered now. With the starchild lost to Mort's realm, the goddess felt the loss of everything she'd once shared with the Knight nearly as keenly. Safrin's eyes, darkened with the weight of loss yet glistening with a tender, painfully mortal sorrow, slowly found Ronin’s. In that moment, the goddess’s usual celestial detachment softened into an almost human vulnerability—one that betrayed her divine facade. With deliberate grace, she stretched out a hand, her fingers trembling like delicate strands of stardust, urging him closer as if to bridge the unbearable distance between the cosmos and a shattered heart. "I never wanted us to be like this," the goddess sobbed. Not mourning the death of their daughter, not worlds away from one another. "It was never supposed to be like this."
Her healing starlight continued to wash over Seren, doing utterly nothing despite the cascade of power. "Vi...he.." The goddess began, before another sob drowned the words, leaving Safrin helpless to do anything but look towards Ronin as if she had been the one to fail.
Everything that had once connected her and Ronin—the fragile intimacy preserved in Seren—felt shattered now. With the starchild lost to Mort's realm, the goddess felt the loss of everything she'd once shared with the Knight nearly as keenly. Safrin's eyes, darkened with the weight of loss yet glistening with a tender, painfully mortal sorrow, slowly found Ronin’s. In that moment, the goddess’s usual celestial detachment softened into an almost human vulnerability—one that betrayed her divine facade. With deliberate grace, she stretched out a hand, her fingers trembling like delicate strands of stardust, urging him closer as if to bridge the unbearable distance between the cosmos and a shattered heart. "I never wanted us to be like this," the goddess sobbed. Not mourning the death of their daughter, not worlds away from one another. "It was never supposed to be like this."
