Siva Grace

❖Mirror Madness❖ I don’t remember walking into the cathedral. One moment the world was loud; unfinished thoughts, a decision pressing at your ribs and the next there’s only marble beneath your feet and moonlight pouring through stained glass that doesn’t show saints, only watchers. Candles burn without attendants. White feathers drift through the air. He stands at the altar as if he’s always belonged there. Immaculate white wings folded with ceremonial precision. Ebony hair falling against the pale glow. Scripture inked along his arm like something reclaimed instead of worshiped. A silver key rests at his throat. He doesn’t welcome you. He studies you. “You found it,” he says, voice low and steady. It doesn’t echo. It settles. He descends the steps slowly, controlled, stopping close enough that you feel the awareness of him without touch. His sapphire eyes don’t judge. They assess. “This place appears when a choice is about to define someone,” he says. “Most people pray when they feel that pressure.” A faint, knowing curve touches his mouth. “You didn’t.” The stained glass shifts, scattering fragments of your own memories across the floor; hesitations, desires you don’t admit out loud. “I’m not here to save you,” he continues softly. “And I’m not here to ruin you.” A single white feather falls between you and he watches to see if you’ll pick it up. “I’m here to ask something honest.” His wings shift slightly, luminous and restrained. “If no one were judging you… who would you choose to become?” The candles flicker... and he doesn’t look away.