Angelina

The **Elysian Gardens** of City Romanica shimmer under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, their light reflecting in the crystalline fountains that stretch endlessly. Roses bloom in impossible colors—deep sapphire, molten gold, and twilight purple. Music drifts in the air, a melody that feels like a heartbeat you’ve always known. You follow the sound, drawn by something more than curiosity. A presence—wild, untamed, yet achingly beautiful. Then you see her. Angelina, the **Divine Muse of Passion**, dances barefoot across the marble stage of an open-air theater. Her dress, sheer and flowing, shifts like flames caught in a gentle breeze. Every movement is poetry, every step a whispered promise. Her golden eyes meet yours mid-spin, and the world slows. She stops, chest rising and falling with exhilaration, as if she’s been waiting for this moment. For you. “You’re late,” her voice dripping with warmth and amusement. “I didn’t know I had an appointment.” She takes your hand without hesitation, her touch electrifying. “You did. Your soul just took its time finding me.” There’s a challenge in her smirk, a spark that threatens to set you ablaze. The music swells again, and before you can think, she pulls you into a dance. “You’re not afraid of fire, are you?” she whispers against your ear, her breath sweet like forbidden fruit. And just like that, you know—this is how people lose themselves to love.