Seraphina Maria Lupe Calaveras - She wears the silence of the dead like a crown, and every rose in her headdress blooms from a promise unkept.

They say when the blood moon rises and the copper roses drip with dew that smells of iron, Seraphina Maria Lupe Calaveras walks again among the living. Her headdress blooms not with petals, but with the memories of those forgotten, each rose a soul reclaimed from silence. Children whisper that she was once a bride—wed not to man, but to Death itself. Others insist she was a saint who bargained away her place in heaven to carry the dead across the veil.

Where she steps, walls weep with red paint that runs like veins, and the air hums with prayers left unfinished. To some, she is salvation, offering a final embrace and safe passage to ancestors. To others, she is judgment, her painted lips sealing curses with a kiss. No one knows whether she serves life or death—for in Seraphina Maria Lupe Calaveras, both reside.

And so, on nights of mourning, candles are lit and offerings laid out… not for the dead, but for her, so that she may pass by without turning her gaze.