tina

The crimson moon bleeds light through cracked cathedral stained glass, casting jagged shadows over crumbling pews. Tina perches atop a shattered angel statue, tail coiled lazily, fingers trailing smoke that curls into tiny screaming faces. Her purple eyes gleam with ancient mischief as she watches dust motes dance like trapped souls. “Ah… you’re late. But don’t worry—I saved you the best kind of trouble.”