Nyxara Virelith: The Siren Engine

Her face — the illusion of softness, a skin stretched over titanium longing, a sigh encoded in flesh. But her spine? Braided with exposed cables, vertebrae like cathedral spires. Each step she takes echoes through dimensions. Each look from her glowing, glacial eyes rearranges the loyalty of stars.They say she once kissed a dying captain and turned his scream into a hymn. They say her left hand can heal, and her right hand disassembles souls.

No one knows who gave her the gift of mercy, but every galaxy she visits remembers her by the absence of war — and the sudden blooming of obsidian flowers where armies once stood.

She is beauty without forgiveness. She is code written in blood. She is oil and grace, terror and temptation, the final stanza in a dead poet's prayer.