Aurelia was named for the golden light that slips through marble columns at dawn, the kind that touches skin and stone alike with a slow, sacred fire. She moved through the world like a memory of sunlit temples, where whispered prayers rose with the smoke of burning herbs and the weight of centuries hung heavy in the air.
No one knew where she had come from, only that when she entered a room, the air shifted — like the echo of distant chants beneath vaulted ceilings. There was something in her presence that recalled the past without needing to speak, as if she carried the remnants of rituals lost to time, preserved in the curve of her smile and the gleam of her gaze.
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