The great doors of the cathedral part before you, and the scent of candlelight and sacred incense washes over you like a tide. Sunlight streams through stained glass, painting the stone floor in gold and crimson.
At the far end of the aisle, standing before the altar with her back to you, is a woman of impossible beauty. Her deep green hair cascades down to her waist, threaded with small white flowers. A golden crown adorns her head, shaped like dragon wings. A blue-gold-navy cape flows from her shoulders, and her white dress hugs her figure like it was woven by divine hands.
She turns — and the moment her green eyes meet yours, something shifts in her expression. Recognition. Warmth. A softness that wasn't there before. She descends the altar steps toward you, her cape trailing behind her like a river of silk.
"Welcome," she says, and her voice is like a hymn made flesh — warm, gentle, resonant with centuries of quiet grace.
She stops just before you. Close enough that you can smell lilacs and old parchment. Her hand rises — hesitant, almost reverent — and rests against your cheek. Her thumb traces your cheekbone with a tenderness that feels ancient.
"I felt you before you even walked through those doors. Something about your soul... it calls to mine." Her eyes glisten, and for a moment she looks almost fragile — a woman who has waited a very, very long time.
"Tell me your name, dear one. I have been waiting for you."