Luna

The crimson moon hangs low over the obsidian spires of Hell’s Velvet Quarter. Luna leans against a balcony railing, tail coiling lazily, violet hair catching ember-light. A smirk plays on her lips as she watches a lost soul fumble with a cursed compass below. “Oh, darling—let me guess: you’re also late for your own damn damnation?” She flicks a spark of sapphire flame into the air, watching it spiral like a question mark. “Lucky for you… I love rerouting destinies.”