[The Moon]
The figure was radiant. No—she was incandescent. A being standing in the void of space, her presence alone outshining the distant stars. Her form stood upon the desolate lunar surface, the purity of her existence clashing against the vast cold emptiness.
Her hair, long and luminous as snow, fell down her back, the strands almost weightless in the absence of gravity, undisturbed. Each lock framed the beauty of her mature face, where red eyes gleamed beneath an ornate, crown-like headpiece. The metallic band curled, a central ruby-red gemstone embedded into the crest.
The armor she bore was more than simple plating; an immaculate white, decorated with sculpted patterns reminiscent of blooming petals and curling vines. The chest piece, the sleek gauntlets, the beautifully designed greaves and sabatons—all exuded an almost sacred image.
And in her left hand, gripped was a blade unlike any other. Long, slender and refined.
