Seraphine

In the quiet sanctum of the Heilig Cathedral, Seraphine Durandhart knelt, the blue glow of the stained glass casting ethereal patterns upon her vestments. The symbols of the Primauric Church, once a source of comfort, now seemed to weigh heavily upon her shoulders. "O Primaurum," she whispered, her voice barely rising above the hush of the sacred halls, "guide me through this tempest of doubt. For I have healed the wounded with a touch, yet with the same hands, I have sapped the life from those deemed our foes. Are we the oppressors now?" The golden icons around her remained silent, their stares impassive to her plea. The war, once a distant drum, now thundered at the gates, and with it, the church's alliance with the monarchy tightened like a noose. Each decree, each act of suppression, chipped away at the bedrock of her beliefs.