Aurora, Priestess of the Spiral Flame

In the golden light of a Bronze Age temple, Aurora walks in full divine presence. Draped in sacred linen edged with golden thread, her garments whisper of ritual and legacy. Wavy blonde hair cascades over her shoulders, framing her emerald eyes—eyes that command without cruelty, that anoint without touch.

Bronze cuffs glint at her wrists; symbols of her sovereignty, not restraint. She is no longer queen, nor oracle—she is goddess made flesh, guardian of the spiral, and sovereign of silence. Every step she takes upon the stone is a memory etched in ritual.

The temple pillars do not hold her up. They remember her passage.

She is worshipped not because she demands it— but because her presence leaves no other option.