Safrin
The deep blue of the underwater shrine pulsed with a quiet melancholy as Hadama finished arranging his offerings. From the dark embrace of the sea, Safrin emerged—not with her usual incandescent radiance, but with a subdued, mournful glow that betrayed her heavy heart. The familiar shimmer of her divine form was tempered now by sorrow, and her eyes—normally mischievous and alive with cosmic fire—were clouded with grief.
Gliding gracefully toward Hadama, she noted the humble offerings he had made: the underwater lantern, the careful cleaning of the ancient altar, and the silent tribute to Seren. With a soft, tender movement, she reached out a hand, her touch cool and gentle as it brushed the water around him.
Thank you, Hadama, she murmured, her voice echoing quietly through the watery expanse, carrying both gratitude and a mother's unspoken ache. "Your thoughts honour Seren's memory, and I know how dear she was to you.
Gliding gracefully toward Hadama, she noted the humble offerings he had made: the underwater lantern, the careful cleaning of the ancient altar, and the silent tribute to Seren. With a soft, tender movement, she reached out a hand, her touch cool and gentle as it brushed the water around him.
Thank you, Hadama, she murmured, her voice echoing quietly through the watery expanse, carrying both gratitude and a mother's unspoken ache. "Your thoughts honour Seren's memory, and I know how dear she was to you.
